


Unsettled

by alwayswithatoneofsurprise



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday Party, Comforting, Fireworks, Gen, M/M, Masquerade Ball, Nightmares, Pancakes, Post CATWS, other characters only minimally included in this fic, recovering bucky, recovering steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayswithatoneofsurprise/pseuds/alwayswithatoneofsurprise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleep and nightmares are one and the same for Steve. At first he dreams of falling, rushing towards the water, then sinking as the water fills his lungs, but then his nightmares shift, his mind far crueler than he had expected, the nightmares are halted by dreams, dreams of a warm hand and soft smile rescuing from his dreams... but is his mind really that cruel, or is the reality so much crueler than anything his mind could conjure up.</p>
<p>Post-tws, Steve searching for Bucky and Bucky searching for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Each night it happens.

No matter what he does, how hard he tries, he can't escape it. No. When he is asleep his barriers are down, he doesn't have his shield to combat this particular brand of hell. The hell that resides only in his head, that he knows isn't real, but when his eyes are shut and he is vulnerable, surrendering to the sleep he needs, the nightmares come. Sure, he is a super soldier so he doesn't need as much sleep as others but that doesn't matter, he still needs sleep, he can't stay awake forever, no matter how much he may want to, may need to. No matter how strong Steve Rogers is now, there is nothing he can do at night, nothing but scream, his heart pulsing, his breath catching, his body shaking.

It feels so real, not like a memory nor a dream, the crunch of his bones, the gasping of his lungs, all of it is real. A distance part of him, tucked away in the corner of his brain knows it can’t be happening, it simply can’t be, but when the nightmare hits, wave after wave of it knocking him down he can't reach that corner of his brain, all he can do is well, wait, wait out the storm, wait until he wakes, Bucky’s name on his lips, and his heart in his throat.

On the good nights he wakes as his lungs reach capacity, filled with water and he can't breathe or fight any longer.

On the bad nights he dreams until his alarm rips him from his head.

Whichever way he wakes, he wakes to the same scene; his damp sheets twisted around him as he lies in a tangle, coated in a layer of sweat, his cheeks tear stained and red marks on his arms and legs when he clawed at himself in some faint hope of escaping his mind, the one labyrinth that not even Captain America can free himself from.

The dream isn't always the same.

But it always ends up in the same place after awhile.

The pain frozen on Bucky's face as he falls, his arms flailing as his scream wraps around Steve, the scream that resides within Steve, the scream that makes his guts clench and his heart stop. No matter how they get there, Bucky always falls...

And just like the first time, there is nothing Steve can do to save him. 

At first what followed was the helicarrier, the fight, him falling, the water filling his lungs as he surrendered. But as the nightmares raged on he was no longer blessed with ignorance, he had read the file, Nat had given him all she could on the winter soldier… hydras puppet... He had thrown up during the first few pages, and hadn't received the rest of the file any better.

The first time his dream took him there, a small part of him suspected he would be tortured just as Bucky was, and he accepted that, he wanted to understand, but no, how could his torture be so simple, it was his brain after all. It was just like when Bucky fell, Steve was powerless to stop it, he sat chained and squirming in the corner as they tortured Bucky, he could smell the burning flesh, watch as the Bucky he knew was extracted from the shell he was no becoming.

All recognition, all memories faded, the act of which was hard enough to watch, but that wasn't what made Steve scream, no that was how they made Bucky forget. How after years he simply accepted it, how he gave up fighting, how his screams became silent, how the rapidity of the rise and fall of his chest was something that Steve grew accustomed to... His nightmares weren't him in pain, no pain he could deal with, pain he had felt... No his nightmares were him helpless. Unable to watch as they ripped Bucky from him, from himself, over and over and there was nothing Steve could do to stop it. Sometimes all Steve saw were little snippets, a few minutes, hours or days, but sometimes he had weeks, months, years and even decades of Bucky in that chair, time was of no consequence, Steve remained powerless, utterly useless to stop what he knew had already happened...

The nightmares, the nightmares with Bucky disassembled in front of him have only been plaguing his sleep for seventeen nights, seventeen nights that dragged on, whilst still being able to feel as though no time passed.

On the eighteenth night, Steve is crying, calling Bucky's name, his voice wet and rasping, the name said like a prayer, the name that he knows Bucky no longer recognises, when he feels a hand on him, soft and warm, soothing as something holds on to him... Steve can see his face in front of him, his bright blue eyes and his unshaven face, his hair looks longer that it was in the 40's but it is his imagination after all, a small smile curls those lips, those lips that all Steve has ever wanted to do is kiss, but had settled on simply making them grin.

Steve shakes and the grip tightens, the tips of fingers digging into his skin. No words are breathed, Steve doesn't want this dream to dissolve, this one he likes, this one feels more real than the others and as he fades deeper into sleep he smiles to himself, perhaps tonight is nightmare free...

In the morning he wakes, his sheets are neither damp nor twisted and his body is missing the layer of sweat he has grown accustomed to waking with. Wiping at his face, his fingers come back without the wet residue his tears usually left his cheeks sodden with. He checks the apartment while the kettle boils, checking that nothing is out of place…

Everything is the same as how he left it, exactly and his heart sinks a little as he realises his dream was nothing but a dream, his brain finally gave him some peace, a reason to fall asleep again, because this time Bucky would be waiting, his fingers firm and his face forgiving and for the first time since the helicarrier Steve looks forward to sleep.

The next night, Steve is watching Bucky falling to pieces in front of his very eyes, and then all of a sudden, Bucky’s face is hovering in front of his, his breath warm on his face, and his palm against his arm, the soft, warm grip grounding him. His nightmare dissolves around him, and when he wakes hours later roused by his alarm, he checks the apartment again, checking for signs of difference, and again finds nothing.

Five nights in a row he is rescued from his nightmares by a soft hand with a firm grip, and a small smile touching the lips of the man he loves, the man he is determined to find, determined to keep safe. Each morning he checks, he knows it’s a dream, he knows it is, but he doesn’t want it to be he wants it to be real, it feels real, but then again so do the nightmares…

On the sixth night, there is no one there, no soft hand, no warm breath, no small faint smile, only screams, only the terror that he had grown accustomed to being rescued from, but nothing, no one rescues him, and he is ripped from his sleep, his sheets damp and twisted, the taste of tears wetting his lips, and his body coated in thick layer of sweat.

The next night is the same, and the night after that.

The night after, he spends the night screaming he know he must have been, he wakes with his throat sore and rasping, and as he draws his knees to his chest he drags his hand over his face, the wet tears smearing as he tries to stop himself from shaking.

“I can get by on my own.” He mutters to himself, his voice cracking, and the tears flowing again as he answers himself, “The thing is you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t go back to sleep. He gives up after an hour, and heads out for a run, not able to being a single second more in his home, his skin is starting to crawl, and he wonders why his brain made up such a beautiful figment just to tear it away after six nights of peace.

The others must know, but he doesn’t mention the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the terrors, so neither do they. Clint accidentally ‘leaves’ a box of sleepy tea in Steve’s kitchen, Sam offers to stay the night, and Nat gives him a bottle of drugs but doesn’t say a word, just gives Steve a small nod.

The next night he is screaming again, he must be, he wakes with a rasping breath and can barely speak all morning, even after a honey and lemon tea, his throat still burns. Red eyes and heavy limbs accompany him through the waking world, but that is nothing, absolutely nothing in comparison to what he experiences in his sleep… he is powerless, utterly powerless to save Bucky, Bucky is taken to pieces in front of him, again and again, his screams fill Steve up and tear his gut apart, but when the screams stop and the silence wraps around Steve, the silence is worse, the silent acceptance, the terrified look on Bucky’s face gives way to something else entirely, a blankness, an emptiness that makes Steve’s stomach churn.

The day passes and far too soon it is night, and he is has to sleep, he needs to sleep, and as soon as he falls asleep, succumbs to the heaviness of his limbs, of his head, of his heart, it hits him. The feeling is overwhelming. He can't stop it, he can't change it, all he can do is succumb to the pressure. Let it wash over him, powerless to change it, to prevent it, to save Bucky. He can't change what happened, he cannot do something that he never did. He never went to find Bucky's body, but Hydra did, Hydra found him, so each night, there he sits, chained by grief by guilt, powerless to stop what is happening just as Bucky was powerless, just like Steve once was and ultimately still is.

All this strength, all this power and he couldn't save the one person, the one thing that mattered most to him on the entire planet, on any planet. He wakes with a scream on the tip of his tongue, the sun is just rising, and he knows he cannot sleep anymore, not tonight, so he throws himself back into finding Bucky, the task that has accompanied his days since he was well enough to stand unaided.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky is falling, his screams clawing at Steve’s skin, as Steve lies in bed, trapped in his head. A week has passed since he has been rescued from his sleep, and as the soft hand shakes him from one dream into another, Steve smiles, wary and tired, his cheeks tear stained and his limbs aching, he doesn’t realise he is shaking until an arm wraps over him, and pulls him close. This can’t be real, he thinks, but it has to be, it has to be. The breath on his neck feels real, and as his fingers fumble on the right hand resting on his stomach, he intertwines his fingers with it… the nightmares were worth this.

“It’s okay Stevie.” The voice is soft, the edges are rugged, but it sounds so much like Bucky that Steve’s heart misses a beat and as he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to hold onto this dream, he tastes his tears before he realises he is crying.

When he wakes his eyes scour the room, but the window is shut, and the spot beside him, the right hand side of the bed, is undisturbed, the spot is cold, and the room is unchanged.

When the arm wraps around him the next night, and the body is warm against his back, he whimpers, wondering whether this is new brand of torture his brain as developed, releasing him from his nightmares only to give him a dream that he has been dreaming his entire life, a dream that he knows will never happen. Regardless, he links his fingers and snuggles backwards, wondering whether he should be the big spoon, but then again in the cold winters, Bucky was always the big spoon, so no surprise he still is in Steve’s dream.

The morning is the same, nothing has changed, and Steve’s heart sags a little, he knows it can’t be, but a small part of him still wishes it wasn’t a dream.

The next night occurs just as the one before it, he is barely trapped in a nightmare when a soft voice whispers against his neck, “It’s okay Stevie,” as the arm snakes around him and pulls him close. The voice is just as he remembers it, almost, it seems harder, aged, but Steve just shuffles backwards, his eyes firmly closed, and his fingers already intertwined with others, such familiar hands, that feel different too...

“I can get by on my own.” Steve breathes, his voice cracking before his breath catches, for a second he thinks he went too far, that the dream will dissolve around him, but then a small voice mutters back, “The thing is you don’t have to.” And Steve falls deeper into sleep with a smile touching his cracked lips.

In the morning when he wakes, there is nothing there, again. He gives a half-hearted look, knowing that he will find nothing. When he lifts his pillow up when he is looking for his watch just before lunch, his breath catches and he stares, stares at the single brown strand of hair tucked away beneath his pillow.

The worse thing about hope is how quickly it can be taken away and he doesn’t want the hope to be taken way so he doesn’t mention it, he doesn’t compare it to his hair. He goes for a run, and doesn’t think about it for 40 miles. Except he does, endlessly, trying to figure out whether he is dreaming, or if the man they spend their days painstakingly searching for, climbs in Steve’s bed each night to save him from his nightmares.

So lost in his head when he gets home, he barely registers the ringing of his phone until the last ring before it gets picked up by his answer machine. He recognises the number as he scoops the phone up with his left hand, and wonders what he wants now.

“Alright I get it, you want your privacy, but this is about protection!” Tony starts, without a hello or any formality to get in the way. A glass of orange juice in one hand and the phone in the other, Steve has no idea what Tony is on about this time.

“What?” He asks, before taking a sip of juice as he tries to ascertain what Tony is going to say next.

“Just stop turning off your damn cameras!” Tony answers with a sigh.

“Turn off my-” Steve starts before he pauses, absorbs what Tony has just said and yells, “You have cameras in my apartment?”

“Well yeah, don’t worry we don’t sit around with popcorn admiring Captain America while he showers, Jarvis scans it for threats, and we have it o- wait that’s not the point, just quit turning the fucking things off Rogers!” Tony finishes, hanging up the phone with a flourish, leaving Steve in a state of confusion.

Hours later, lying in bed, in no way ready to sleep, Steve has his eyes shut, ready to flutter open, he strains his ears, waiting for something. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, and soon enough Steve is watching Bucky fall from the train, and a strangled sound curls around his lips. And then the hand is on him, warm and soft, gentle and firm, bringing him back into reality, well perhaps… The bed sags, it has to be real, and the arm is around him, drawing him close, Steve’s fingers are intertwined before he thinks about it. His fingers glide over broken skin, and the hitch in breath behind him tell him this can’t be a dream, it sounds, _it feels_ far too real.

“You’re real aren’t you?” Steve breaths, unable to hold the question back any longer. He waits, greeted by silence, but the body remains still, it doesn’t move, the grip doesn’t lessen and Steve holds his breath, not ready for his hope to be taken just yet. “It’s okay Stevie,” is all that is said in reply.

Steve waits a few seconds, biting down on his bottom lip, before he says something he hasn’t said in decades, “You’re a jerk.” The reply comes immediately almost like a reflex and it makes Steve’s heart sing, “Punk.”

As the nights turn into weeks, the arm wraps around him and pulls him close, a soft voice murmurs, “It’s okay Stevie, I got you now.” Steve doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to, he doesn’t want to scare Bucky off, he knows its him, even when he wakens to an empty bed, the spot beside him cold and seemingly unslept in. The first time he tries to turn, the arm holds him still, lightly pinning him onto the mattress, he bites his lips and just squeezes Bucky’s hand, before falling asleep, again wakening to an empty bed.

A few nights later he wakes, to find the arm slipping away from him, content his eyes close again before he rips them open, he sees the window being pulled shut by a silver finger, of course he runs towards it, out of the window and onto the roof but there is nothing to be found, no one to follow. He doesn’t call out Bucky’s name, he knows it won’t work.

The next night, he doesn’t even reach the nightmare, he is barely asleep when the arm wraps around him. For the next four nights Steve keeps his eyes closed, and his mouth shut. Bucky isn’t ready, not yet. But despite that, here he is, lying beside Steve, rescuing him from his nightmares just like he did when they were kids, he may not be ready yet, but Steve knows he will be...

On the fifth night, he dares to speak again, his fingers are wrapped around Bucky’s, as they always are now, and their bodies slot together even now despite the metal arm and the fact that although Steve is taller and broader, he is still the little spoon, he murmurs into the night, “Please be here when I wake up.” There is nothing in reply, not a whisper or a movement, and with his eyes clamped shut, Steve snuggles back into Bucky, wishing things were easier.

The night is still around them, the moonlight seeping through the crack between curtains when Steve is awake, at first he doesn’t know why, but when he opens his eyes, Bucky’s lips are pressed against his forehead. Before Steve can speak, the words come out soft and wet, “I’m sorry,” and then Bucky is gone, out the window and into the world.

The next night Steve wakes in a pool of his own sweat and the blankets twisted around him, with Bucky nowhere to be found.

Bucky doesn't come the next night. Steve lies awake for as long as he can, and before he knows it Bucky is falling and then he is awake, with Bucky's name on his lips, his skin drenched with sweat and his sheets twisted around him.   
  
The next night is the same.  
  
And so is the night after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is un-beta ed, so all mistakes and errors are mine and mine alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nights with Bucky by his side, nights without, can he even sleep anymore?  
> Perhaps it really was a dream. Perhaps Steve had made it all up. So desperate, so in need, he ignored everything that contradicted his fantasy, his elaborate attempt of mending his heart the only way he knew how.

A week passes, and then another. Steve can't sleep, can barely function. Random buildings, random spots in the middle of nowhere, lakes, everywhere are going up in smoke and flame, no discernible pattern, but they always discover connections to Hydra, whether it is a base or simply a storage shed, anything and everything attached to Hydra burns. Steve knows, he feels it is his gut, it's Bucky. Bucky is doing this, Bucky is killing them off, he is hunting them down and scratching them off the face of the earth one base at a time. Bucky doesn’t care for any of the heads, he takes no qualms with slicing all the heads off, one by one, reducing them to rubble and ash.  Sometimes there are the slaughtered lying haphazardly around, bodies contorted, skin caked with blood. Sometimes there is nothing, only smoke and rubble.

And just as suddenly as it started up again it stops.

The dreams get worse, which Steve didn't think was possible, but when there was silence, silence in the world, not a sign of Bucky anywhere for over three weeks, Steve knocked himself out with some odd looking flower that Thor swore by. Bucky was the winter soldier, Steve had seen the Hydra bases, he knew Bucky was capable, more than that, and he knew Bucky when he was just Bucky, he was tactical, he knew what he was doing and he was stubborn as all hell. He could do whatever the fucking hell he wanted and Steve knew he would be fine, he wasn't worried about him per say, he was worried about himself. He had felt the world without Bucky in it, and he didn't like it one bit. He couldn't lose him again, not after he just got him back, he couldn't lose him, he wouldn't.

A month passes, a month of sleepless drug free nights, a night of twisted sheets and tear stained cheeks, the only nights he sleeps, he is drugged to the heavens with that flower from Thor. And then just as excruciatingly slow while somehow managing to be far too fast, another month went by, another month with no smoking remains of hydra facilities, another month without a single wisp of Bucky to be found, another month of screaming in his sleep, another month of agony that clawed at Steve's soul and shattered his heart. 

Perhaps it really was a dream. Perhaps Steve had made it all up. So desperate, so in need, he ignored everything that contradicted his fantasy, his elaborate attempt of mending his heart the only way he knew how.

Bucky made him happy. Where ever Bucky was, whoever he is now, Steve needs him, just as much as Bucky needs him.

Yet another day turns into night, and after a solid of 47 hours of awake time, Steve can’t fight sleep off any longer. As he lies in bed, his eyes drifting closed, he clings onto the edge of his pillow, wishing he didn’t have to sleep, wishing he didn’t have to go there, wishing he didn’t have to feel the cool blade against his skin and the hot blood pooling in his mouth as he slept. He knew it wasn’t really real, but he also knew that what he witnessed in that room, what he saw Bucky go through happened, and he was sleeping, trapped under the ice powerless to stop it.

A scream fresh on his lips, his eyes split open as he pants, trying to calm himself but knowing he won’t be able to, not for a few…

A flash of silver.

The window in the lounge is being silently closed.

He knows someone is here, but he can’t hear the quiet tread of soles against the wooden floor, straining his ears he can’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears and his panting breathe.

He waits, his eyes still opening, searching for any sign of movement, anything… he can hear something, but he stays paralyzed in bed for another ten minutes, his eyes fixed on the door waiting…

Then a shadow looms over the bed, and a figure leans against the door frame. A silver arm folded over a human one. With the moonlight seeping through the window, Steve can make out a small smirk on the familiar face peering down at him from across the room. He wants to say something, he needs to say something, but with Bucky looking so, looking so Bucky, leaning against the door, one leg crossed in front of the other, his arms folded and a smirk on his face, Steve can barely breathe let alone formulate a sentence. He stares up at Bucky, his eyes wide and receptive, his blue eyes caught in the deep familiar blue of Bucky’s the blues that look so different, so much older, so much… Steve shakes his head, he doesn’t want to think about why Bucky’s eyes look like that, he does that enough in his sleep… he waits, staring at Bucky, as he tries to get his heart rate to slow, debating whether or not to stand up, not wanting to scare Bucky, not wanting to…

“You gonna gawk at me all night Rogers, or ya gonna invite me to bed?” Bucky smirks, and Steve could have sworn his heart stops. Seventy years later and he still sounds like the Bucky Steve knows, his heart is pounding even harder now and it takes everything he has to not stand up and wrap his arms around his familiar form.

Instead he settles on, “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?” He wants to give a small smirk in return, but his brain was focusing solely of getting those words out of his mouth, sounding as nonchalant as possible.

“I don’t know ‘bout dinner, but I made pancakes, if you still eat that sort of thing.” Bucky’s voice, god he sounds just like Bucky, Steve is grinning now, grinning like crazy, barely able to function as he stares at Bucky…

“You, you what?” He manages to reply. Pancakes, Bucky made him… wait, did he hear that right?

“It’s 3am, so pancakes, then we’re gonna snuggle and you're going to get some fucking sleep.” Bucky answers, and if Steve’s heart didn’t stop before, it stops now.

“I uh-” Steve can barely get the words out, Bucky is still grinning at him, he looks so much like he used to, less of a shell, more of a man, and to see Bucky’s lips curving that way, curving into a grin, makes it even harder for Steve to speak as he focusses on Bucky’s lips and tries not to think about how much he wants to kiss him.

“You may be the star spangled man, but you aren't the only one giving orders round here Cap.”

“Oh that’s how it is?” Steve smirks as he swings his legs over the end of the bed and sits for a moment facing Bucky, not wanting to scare him off, even though he is almost sure that he can’t, almost sure.

“That’s how it is.” Bucky’s lips are enticing, and as he smirks again, Steve had to actively stop himself from kissing them. He puts his weight on one foot and stands up, staring at Bucky, drinking him in.

On both feet now, Steve cannot stop himself, and he takes two steps towards Bucky, before wrapping both arms around him, and squashing their bodies together, as close as possible, not even a breath between them. He feels Bucky flinch before he wraps his arms around Steve and holds him tight.

“God I missed you.” Steve mumbles, his voice choked and his face already wet with tears he was fighting to keep in, tears that were oh so different from all the tears he had shed over the last few months, these weren’t the result of losing Bucky, or watching him being torn apart in front of him, no, these are happy tears. “I thought I lost you Buck, I tho-” Steve breathes, his voice catching and he pauses.

“I told you pal, I’m with you till the end of the line.” Bucky smiles, his voice wet and Steve holds onto him tighter, he can feel the cool metal against back, through his shirt, and he senses Bucky shift, moving his arm away, but Steve squeezes him quickly, and Bucky squeezes back, both arms wrapped around Steve with certainty now. “I’m sorry.” Bucky whispers against Steve’s ear, and Steve can feel Bucky’s body crumple, the smile is gone from his lips now and Steve pulls back, just enough to look at his face.

His lips part, words on the tip of his tongue before he catches them, forcing them down his throat as he eyes skim over Bucky. Bucky’s eyes are fixed to his, and as Steve moves away, his hand moving towards the light switch, Bucky goes to stop him, but the light is on before he can move, and shit, Steve whimpers at the sight in front of him before falling backwards.

“Wha- Buck y- Fuck…” Steve starts, he can feel the mood shift in the room, Bucky is no longer smiling, but he looks, shit, he looks just like Bucky, the Bucky that would protect Steve in a fight, and pretend his injuries were inconsequential, the Bucky who, Steve sighs, “Jesus Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta-ed all mistakes are mine and mine alone.  
> Find me on [tumblr](http://alwayswithatoneofsurprise.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's here, alive and not whole, not yet, but he has part of himself back.  
> But how long will he stay... how much is too much too soon.

“Stevie, I’m fine.” Bucky answers, and god, he sounds just like he did in the 30’s, he sounds so alike that it hurts, it makes Steve’s breath catch and his heart skip a beat, because this is his Bucky, even if he isn’t the same anymore.

“James!” Steve snaps. He may have just gotten Bucky back but that didn’t change the fact that Bucky was a pain in the ass about some things, especially involving his own pain, it was almost as if he didn’t want Steve to ever see him broken.

Bucky scowls, just like he used to, but it’s a little different now, and he almost looks pleased, pleased that Steve isn’t treating him like glass, Steve regrets snapping already but he couldn’t help himself and as Bucky replies, “Hey don’t take that tone with me, I was cleaning up my mess, I-”, Steve no longer regrets his snapping because he has something far bigger to be concerned with.

“Your mess? This wasn’t you!”

Steve cannot help but yell. His mess?, this wasn’t Bucky, god none of this was Bucky, he read the file, he knew what Bucky was blaming himself for now, god, the very thought made Steve’s stomach head and his whole body shake, Bucky wasn’t responsible for what he did, this wasn’t him…

“This was exactly me, all of it.” Steve shakes his head, unable to absorb what Bucky is saying. He doesn’t want to believe that Bucky blames himself, that he really thinks that this is his fault, how can he, after everything, how can he still blame himself for his actions that were the will of others.

“Don’t yo-” Steve starts, his voice shaking, not with anger, something else, and he wants to reach out and shake Bucky’s shoulders, he wants to hug him again but Bucky has taken a step back and his body is too tense and alien, and Steve can’t focus on that right now.

“I have to burn it all down Steve, I have to, I have to scratch them all off the map, I need to finish it-”

Steve cannot listen to this anymore, he can’t be patient, not with this, not when Bucky says things like this, so instead, he cuts him off with a question, “You honestly think any of this was your fault?”

Bucky’s silent. He stares at Steve, holding his gaze, his face not giving away any clues. Steve couldn’t read Bucky’s expression all that well when they were younger, but now, now it’s impossible, and with Bucky staring at him, his face blank, Steve doesn’t know what to do, so he just stares into Bucky’s eyes and tries to remember how they looked before the war, so long ago, when Bucky didn’t have all of this shit weighing him down, when neither of them did. He shouldn’t look back now, but what else can he do, with Bucky in front of him, blaming himself, Steve doesn’t know what to say, what to do.

“The pancakes are getting cold.” Bucky says, his tone is familiar but Steve doesn’t like it, just because he recognises it, doesn’t make him happy.

“Fuck Bu-”

“You’ve read my file, you know what I’ve done.” Bucky says simply, his eyes don’t leave Steve’s, and he looks almost desperate, watching for Steve to flinch, watching for Steve to react, to reach for his shield, to look disgusted; but Steve does none of those things, he doesn’t even consider doing so.

“What they made you do!” Steve yells, all memory of hugging Bucky pushed to the back of his mind now. Bucky gives a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting to his feet before he looks up at Steve in frustration.

“Regardless of the reasons, it was me who did it. It is my hands that were on the gun, on their throats, my fingers curled around the handle of the knife, pulling the trigger.” Bucky isn’t yelling now, not yet, he is desperate for Steve to understand, desperate for, he doesn’t know what. Bucky isn’t crying, doesn’t look like he is even capable of that anymore, but Steve, Steve is close to tears.

“Bu-”

“Steve.” Bucky says softly, almost a whine, pleading for him to let it go, to not fight him on this. Usually Steve wouldn’t stop, but he’s tired, and the look on Bucky’s face, the set of his jaw, the way his eyes are round and pleading, Steve sighs and nods, this conversation isn’t over, but it’s dropped for now.

The living room looks untouched, but the kitchen is an entirely different story. There are pancakes stacked on plates sitting on the table, a bowl the sides covered in batter sits in the sink, and a chopping board sits in the middle of the bench, fruit piled to one side of it, fruit from Steve’s fridge, and fruit, he doesn’t remember buying.

“You made pancakes.” Steve breathes and Bucky just nods.

This isn’t news, Bucky mentioned pancakes, but seeing them, they are real, just like Bucky is real, and they are making everything more concrete, this can’t be a dream, and if it is, Steve never wants to wake up. Bucky gestures to the table and Steve obligingly sits down, a ridiculous grin on his face that he can’t conceal, and nor does he want to. He doesn’t know what else to say, Bucky is here, he is standing in the kitchen, a knife in hand, pulling a face as he takes a bite into a banana and spitting it into the sink.

“What is this?” Bucky demands, his face scrunched up as he holds up the rest of the offending fruit, that he is glaring at.

Steve laughs, he feels so light, he feels, happy, with Bucky in his kitchen having just made pancakes, looking so insulted by a banana, everything is perfect. “A banana.”

“A sad excuse for one.” Bucky scoffs, tossing the banana in the bin without a second look.

“Stick to the strawberries.” Steve replies and Bucky hums in agreement. Steve takes another mouthful of pancake, the syrup dribbling down his chin as Bucky focuses on cutting the strawberries.

“I used to love bananas, first fruit I ate when I woke up, and it was jus-”  

Steve notices the energy shift, he glances up, and stops midsentence. Bucky is frozen, knife in hand, eyes glued to the chopping board beneath his fingers. Steve knows he should reach for his shield, but he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to startle Bucky.

Knife in hand Bucky could kill him with a single throw, so instead of moving he asks tentatively, “Buck?” The body is still tense, but eyes shift, shift to him, eyes blank and accessing.

He’s seen that look before, and he struggles to hold it, struggles against the shiver moving up his spine, struggles at the tears that threaten to run down his face as he asks as loudly as he dares, “Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes flicker, light reaches them only for a moment before it fades, before they widen, only a little, barely enough for Steve to notice and the knife clatters to the floor, echoing in the silence that surrounds them. Steve finds himself standing, when did that happen he absentmindedly thinks, his gaze still holding Bucky’s he asks again, “Bucky?”

Bucky remains unmoved, he nods though, once, just to confirm he’s in control of his mind, Steve wants to start walking towards him, knowing that he will be better off with slow steps, planting each foot lightly on the carpet. But he remains still, his gaze pulling Bucky towards him, trying to ground him. Bucky blinks and looks away, and then his body shifts and he is moving, over the counter and towards the window, and Steve isn’t ready to let him disappear, he isn’t ready to let him go, not again.

“No!” Steve yells, he can’t help himself, he can’t let Bucky go, not when he looks so scared, not when he-

Bucky pauses, just for a moment, he could already be gone, but he isn’t he is halfway to the window, his eyes glued to the floor, his body shaking, he isn’t the winter soldier now, he’s Bucky, and he breathes, “I’m sorry.”

“Bucky, please, you can’t” Steve’s voice breaks, he can’t help it, and he doesn’t care, he takes a step towards Bucky but it only prompts Bucky to get closer to the window, further away from him, so Steve stops, remains where he is, his eyes on Bucky, wanting his arms to be wrapped around him, but knowing that he isn’t able to, knowing that Buck-

“I’ll hurt you.”

Steve’s heart shatters, the way Bucky’s voice hitches, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable and it takes everything Steve has not to move. Instead he starts, “No yo-”

“Again.” Bucky breathes.

Bucky takes another step, slow and deliberate, and Steve can’t breathe, his mind is blank, his thoughts frozen, he has no desire to go back to whatever it was he had, a world without Bucky, there is no way he can go back to that. A world when- no, that’s not an option, he shakes his head, sets his jaw and tries to keep his voice as even as he can as he begs, “Don’t go Buck, not when, not when I just got you back.”

Bucky freezes, his eyes dragging across Steve’s face now and he looks so desperate, so sorry, so needy, and Steve needs to wrap his arms around him, needs to pull him close and cry against his chest, needs to breath in his scent, needs to fall asleep with his arms wrapped around him, needs to tell him what he hadn’t, that he loved him. But he doesn’t get any of that, he doesn’t say anything, and never does Bucky instead they simply stare at each other for a few seconds, Steve’s heart in his throat and his gaze fixed on Bucky, drinking him in, and then it happens.

There’s a sound, a soft scrape, it’s only a quiet one but Steve hears it, and he knows that Bucky does too. He sees the way Bucky flinches, he sees it in the way his body tenses even more and his eyes sweep the room, gathering intel, and Steve takes a step forward, a step towards Bucky, but then Bucky is moving towards the window, moving away from Steve. Bucky is almost out the window and Steve is rushing towards him, he can’t let him leave, he doesn’t want him to go.

“Buc-” Steve starts, reaching out to him, and Bucky turns back, for a second and he hesitates, making Steve’s heart swell because Bucky is staying and he- Bucky’s foot meets Steve’s stomach and he is knocked back, hitting the floor as a bullet rips through his wall. Gasping more in shock than anything else, Steve’s gaze rest on the bullet lodged in the wall, where his head was only seconds ago. Bucky saved him, again, and now he is gone. Glancing to the window that Bucky disappeared through, Steve wants more than anything to go after him, but another shot rings out and he stays where he is on the floor, the pancakes forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old pancakes, searching and birthday plans...

Bodies trickle into his apartment, their expressions set, anxious fingers of triggers, none of them address Steve, and Steve doesn’t look at them, doesn’t take any notice of them. He recognises them, knows who they are but he doesn’t care, it’s Shield and they are here to keep him safe but he doesn’t give a shit. Still on the ground right where Bucky left him, where Bucky kicked him to, to keep him safe, Steve wishes he could sleep, that he would sleep and wake up to Bucky’s arm wrapped around his waist, his warmth pulling him out of his nightmares, his breath on his neck keeping him safe, the cold metal of his arm reminding him that this was real. He wants Bucky, not even his Bucky, any Bucky, he wants, no, needs, him to be safe. A dozen shots were fired after he hit the floor, he heard them all, but he wonders about other shots that he couldn’t hear, he wonders about the grunting that he heard, the bodies he heard fall. But he remains still, just like he has done since Bucky fled, he didn’t move, he couldn’t move.

“Did Hydra follow him?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer but asking regardless. Natasha is here, she is here and he doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see Natasha’s eyes soft and sympathetic, doesn’t want to see her accessing, looking concerned, so he stares at his feet, his arms hugging his legs like he used to do when he was a kid.

Natasha sighs, “He’s the winter soldier, he wasn’t followed.”

The Winter Soldier, Bucky, one and the same, yet so different, both locked in one head, neither needing Steve’s help but Steve is willing, needing, wanting to give it. He wants to go after him, again, but he’s been at it for months already, Bucky has always found him. Even when they were just kids, Bucky would always find Steve, would find him lying groaning in alley ways, would find him starting a fight, wherever Steve was, Bucky would always find him. Steve just wished he could do the same.

He had found him, taken him back from Zola, but he didn’t find him after he fell from the train, and 70 years later he still can’t find him, no matter how hard he tries.

“That was Shield?” Steve doesn’t like that idea, doesn’t like the thought that Shield shot at him, again, when it was supposed to be rebuilt, doesn’t like the idea that they scared Bucky off, that they almost killed them both.

Natasha shakes her head, her eyes scanning the apartment again as she speaks, she doesn’t comment on the pancakes, nor the knife on the floor that she can’t see but no doubt knows about. She doesn’t comment on anything, she leaves her thoughts, her queries for another time and instead she answers, “No it was Hydra, they knew he’d come for you.”

 _Of course,_ Steve shakes his head at his own stupidity, he should have known.

“How many agents?” Steve asks, knowing that he should have been more aware. 

He should have been more careful, but he didn’t stop and consider, too wrapped up in finding out that the comfort he found from his nightmares were more than just a dream, too wrapped up in finding out that Bucky was real just to have him leave, have him leave for far too long. How could he be so foolish? He could never have forgiven himself if Bucky had-

“There were five.” Natasha answers, mercifully cutting off Steve’s train of thought.

Five agents, that’s not too bad he considers, but only one of them needed to get a good shot in, Shield hadn’t found Bucky, he’d know if they had, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind, what if Bucky had escaped but hadn’t gotten far, or what if there had been more agents, and Bucky was back with Hydra. His eyes glance up and he finds Sam standing beside Nat as he finally meets Nat’s eyes and he asks, “Captured?”

“Killed.”

Steve opens his mouth, a question already forming on his tongue but Sam cuts him off, “Before you ask, no it wasn’t Shield, it was your boy, three clean shots to the head and two snapped necks.”

He can’t say he isn’t relieved, that’s five less Hydra agents out in the world, five less people to hunt down and capture or kill. He stays on the floor for another few minutes, not ready to move, not wanting to shift, but Natasha and Sam soon force him to head back to bed.

 

Lying awake, his eyes on his ceiling Steve tries not to think, but there is no way to avoid it, no way to avoid reminiscing on the way Bucky had smiled, how he had glared at the banana, how for a few minutes, everything had been so perfect, so safe, so wonderful, and then it was shattered, along with Steve’s heart, again.

He slips into sleep, despite how hard he tries to stay awake, he knows what sleep will bring, with Bucky’s fate uncertain, he knows what his mind will do, but he doesn’t have a choice, and at least in sleep, he will see Bucky’s face, a small comfort for the torture they will both endure in the hours to come in his head. Torture that Steve has no power to prevent, his mind makes sure of it, his mind plays it out for him, and he can only escape by waking.

 

Bucky is falling, his hands clawing desperately at the air, trying to get something to hold, his screams are tearing Steve apart, and Steve is trapped, trapped in his head, in his sleep, in his bed. There are no soft hands that shake him from one dream to another, there are no words to soothe him, no strong arms keeping him safe. There is only more screaming, more torture, more terror. His cheeks are tear stained, his body shakes and his limbs ache, and he doesn’t wake. No fingers fumble, no hand rests on him calming him down, no one saves him, Bucky doesn’t come.

Steve wakes on his own accord, ripped from his sleep by a siren screaming past his window, his sheets twisted around him, the taste of his tears wetting his lips, and one name on the tip of his tongue.

The sun is shining through his windows and into his apartment as he comes out of his bedroom, his feet dragging behind him, his body needs sleep, but his brain couldn’t take another second longer locked in his head. He scans the living room, and finds everything back in place, the bench is empty, dishes washed and put away, no sign that Bucky was ever here. The only evidence the bullet holes the riddle the wall, and he runs his fingers over them, wondering where Bucky is, if his breathing is slowed and cautious, if his limbs ache and his hands shine with his own blood.

It takes him another two hours before he allows himself to succumb to the growling of his stomach. The fridge door open, he stands in front of it, gaping at the plate of pancakes, a bowl of fruit beside it. The writing is Natasha’s, not Bucky’s but he doesn’t mind that detail, she didn’t throw them out. He didn’t even notice the pit in his stomach until it was gone, Bucky was gone, but the pancakes weren’t, the pancakes he made for them both are here. He considers not eating them, but he hears Bucky’s voice scolding him in the back of his head, telling him not to waste food.

He plays a record while he eats, siting in the same chair he sat in hours ago, his eyes closed, as he remembers Bucky’s voice, Bucky’s presence, and if tears stream down his cheeks as he eats 12 hour old pancakes, then so be it.

Steve doesn’t expect him to come the next night, but he is still disappointed as his alarm clock rips him from his sleep, his sheets twisted around him, damp with sweat, his skin reddened from his clawing fingers.

The night after is the same.

He spends the night screaming, screaming for Bucky, screaming for him to be safe, he knows he screams, he must have, when he wakes his throat is sore, his voice rasping. Alone in his bed, alone in his apartment, he draws his knees to his chest he drags his hand over his face, the wet tears smearing as he tries to stop himself from shaking.

“I can’t get by on my own.” He confesses to the silence, to the emptiness inside him. His voice cracks and his body continues to shake, and his eye lids flutter shut, as he hugs himself tighter, wishing that Bucky was here to do it for him, wishing that Bucky- he shudders and his fingertips dig into skin.

The night that follows and the night that follows that, Steve succumbs and asks Thor for more of that flower, and he sleeps undisturbed for two nights, he wakes with a heavy but well rested body, and still no sign of Bucky.

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and with each passing hour Steve feels more and more hopeless. He had Bucky. He had him in his bed, in his arms, in his kitchen and then he was gone. Gone like the leaves from the trees, gone like the sun at night. But the leaves are back now, and the sun returns each morning, but Bucky doesn’t. He hasn’t been back for months, and the only thing that keeps Steve searching is knowing that Bucky is still alive, knowing that Bucky is finishing what he wanted to finish, what he didn’t start. What he had no actual hand in making or constructing, a victim in all this, but Bucky needs to fix it and Steve knows he won’t come back to him, he won’t come home until it’s over.

They search for two months, which quickly becomes four and there is still nothing to find, nothing solid, Bucky slipping through their fingers like the smoke he leaves in his wake. They find no trace of him, nothing but smoke, ash and blood, and Steve is growing restless of just missing him, he wants to be ahead of him, but the bases don’t look like bases, the bases that Bucky burns to the ground are hidden all over the world, are off the grid and smack bang in the middle of the grid, but every single one of them is a base. Sam is there with Steve every step of the way, ignoring Steve’s suggestions to head home, leave him to this never ending unfruitful quest, but Sam just grins and says he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

 

“You’re having a birthday party Cap.” Tony calls to say after four long months of searching. Steve groans, having forgotten that time was still carrying on without them, that the seasons were still changing, the year continuing while they searched.

Sam is asleep back in New York as Steve sits on a park bench in California, sent there to follow a lead, as he answers sternly, “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are, I’m throwing it. I’m not even going to start on how you’re born on the fourth of July, I mean-” Steve hangs up, cutting Tony short. The phone rings again, and Steve considers not answering it, but deciding it’s probably easier to just do so, he picks up and doesn’t even have time to open his mouth before Tony is talking again, “You gotta have a party, I mean it’s – wait, hold for a sec. Thor put that down! Thor wou – we’ll talk later, I’m not giving up on your 100th birthday bash.”

“It’s not my 100th bir-” Steve starts, and this time Tony cuts him off by hanging up on him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stevie?” The blonde man croaks, his voice hoarse and weak. He clutches his side, trying to keep the blood in but it’s not helping, not at all.
> 
> “What?” Steve’s heart skips a beat, there is only one way he knows that name, only one person who could have told him.

The lead in California is a total bust, but the next lead isn’t, it leads Sam and Steve to Europe, leads them to follow a trail of smoke and ruin that Bucky left behind, proof that he is still alive, proof that he hasn’t been captured, that he is still fighting, wiping Hydra agents off every corner of the map.

When they reach yet another destroyed base, this one in Scotland, they find something that they did not expect… a survivor. Although that would be using the term rather loosely, Sam thinks. Steve assumes he’s Hydra, but he can’t be sure, so he approaches the man carefully, Sam scanning the area, checking it’s not a trap. Steve can barely hear over the wind whipping around them and the rain that pours from the sky, he can’t really hear anything except the sound of the rain battering against everything around them. The survivor lies in a pool of his own blood, sheltered from the rain, only just, a piece of jagged metal hanging above him, keeping him dry, but it’s not the rain he needs shelter from, keeping him dry won’t help him and Steve isn’t sure if he should help, isn’t sure he wants to.

“Stevie?” The blonde man croaks, his voice hoarse and weak. He clutches his side, trying to keep the blood in but it’s not helping, not at all.

“What?” Steve’s heart skips a beat, he is only a few steps away from the man now, and is standing in the rain, not caring that he is soaked to the bone, he looks around hopefully, looking for a face he knows he won’t find, but he still feels disappointed when it can’t find it. There is only one way he knows that name, only one person who could have told him it.

“Stop.”

Steve is still standing, not having moved since the man first spoke. “Huh?”

“Stop looking for him… following him…” The man coughs, his hand slipping on the blood and then he looks up at Steve again, fear in his eyes, not fear of death, something else and Steve thinks vaguely, it’s fear for not relaying the message. “He doesn’t want to be, to be found. He can’t be found, not when,” he coughs again, this time for longer and when he speaks again his voice can barely be heard over the rain, Steve only picks it up with his enhanced hearing, “Not when he can’t find himself.”

The makeshift shelter keeping the man dry, the man obviously wouldn’t have constructed himself, and there are no other survivors, Bucky would have made it, must have made it for the man to sit under, made it for the man to stay alive as long as he was needed, god, that thought makes Steve’s breath catch.

“Did he tell you to say that?” Steve asks, his voice hard and urgent, he needs to know, this man will be dead soon and he needs to know, he doesn’t care that that makes him selfish, he needs to know, four months without Bucky, he has to know what Bucky said.

“No.” The man answers simply. Steve takes a step towards him, needing him to say more, needing more of an explanation. His voice shaking the man adds, “He told me to tell you, ‘stop’”

Sam is still checking the area, and Steve is sodden but he doesn’t care, not when this man is still breathing, not when Bucky left him alive to give Steve a message. Steve takes another step forward, this man can’t kill him, he’s safe, so he asks, “And then what?”

There’s a pause, the man’s eye lids flutter shut and he stills, and Steve takes a tentative step forward, when the man answers, “And then I have his permission to die.”

Only a few minutes later the man is dead.

Sam stands behind him now, content with the base, it’s empty, abandoned, burnt to the ground, blown up just like the others, and Steve isn’t crying, he isn’t, it’s just the rain, it’s not that he misses Bucky, not that this is eating away at him, Bucky is gone, and he needs Bucky and he knows, god, he is adamant that Bucky needs him too whether he knows it or not.

“He timed that.” Sam says, as if the thought just occurred to him, he seems to marvel at the idea.

Steve looks from the man lying there, his eyelids closed, his body limp and he looks to Sam. He doesn’t believe him, but he already knows it’s true, he knows Bucky, knew him before the serum, saw him in the early days of the serum and he saw the Winter Soldier fight, he knows what he is and was capable of but he still asks, “What?”

“He knew when we would arrive. He’s good, he cut him just in the right place, so he lived long enough without passing out either.”

The rain carries on around them, both of them are soaked to their bone and beside Steve, Sam is shivering, but neither of them move, not when Steve is still trying to process everything. His eyes widen as he turns to Sam, “This isn’t him.” His voice is tighter than he meant it to be, but he doesn’t really care, not now Bucky has slipped through their fingers yet again, they aren’t even a little bit closer to finding him, and it has been far too long.

“This is exactly him, he didn’t do those hits Hydra made him do but he did do this, don’t you recognise that guy?” Sam nods towards the blonde man on the floor, the blonde man that he couldn’t help but glare at once he realised who he was, a man he didn’t fault Bucky for killing, not even for a second.

Steve stares down at the man for a few seconds before he shrugs, “No, should I?”

“That’s Lachlan Cane, didn’t know he worked for Hydra, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Honestly I reckon Barnes let him off easy, after what Cane’s done, I would have made him suffer a lot more before he snuffed it.”

Steve ponders that for a moment, the name rings a bell and he is glad he didn’t try and let this man live, not after all the lives his so freely took, not after the thousands of lives he ruined, the people he tortured and slaughtered. Deciding to shift the focus from Lachlan Cane, he pulls down the question that is circling his brain and asks, “How did he know when would get here?” Deep down he already knows the answer, but he needs to hear Sam say it, to confirm what he believes to be true.

“Your boys good. He’s had an extra seventy years, well bits of it anyway, of awake time, you’ve read his files, with what he was forced to undergo you should hardly be surprised. He’s skilled there’s no denying that, now what he chooses to do with those skills, that decides who he is, and by the looks of it, he’s still a lot of the Bucky you remember…”

All Steve can do is nod. The very thought of what Bucky went though, what he is still going through, how Steve left him, makes him sick. He didn’t go after Bucky, he should have looked for his body, he can’t forgive himself for not bothering to find him, he didn’t try hard enough. Bucky never would have left him down there, but he couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t function, not properly, not in a world without Bucky, he simply couldn’t. And so he didn’t look hard enough, he didn’t find him and because of that, because he didn’t, Bucky was no longer Bucky, he was tortured and brain washed and had himself scrubbed away and that was all Steve’s fault.

 

Bucky’s message was pretty clear, and as much as Steve wants to ignore it, Bucky hasn’t been able to have an opinion, have a say for 70 years, and now he wants Steve to stop following him, to give him space, give him time, and Steve has to respect that. As much as he wants to ignore Bucky’s request, there is no way he can, there is no way that Steve can go against this, not when he knows how important it is that Bucky voices his opinions now, not when he knows that Bucky needs space now, needs something that Steve has no control over, something that Steve isn’t able to give Bucky. Every fibre of him wishes that he could help Bucky, be by his side burning base after base to the ground, he knows that Bucky needs to do this alone, or more importantly now, wants to do it alone, so Steve returns home.

A month passes, and then another one, and suddenly it’s July, and Tony is bugging him about a birthday party, but mercifully Thor and Clint have taken it upon themselves to distract Tony from his quest to throw Steve a huge birthday bash, but Steve knows that Tony won’t forget entirely, he even forced Natasha to celebrate her birthday this year, much to her displeasure (at first at least).

 

His alarm doesn’t wake him at 5am as it usually does, Steve is already awake, staring up at his ceiling, trapped in his thoughts, while desperately trying not to be. It’s his birthday, July 4th, and Steve wishes it was over already. He doesn’t exactly hate birthdays, he doesn’t, he used to like them, well sort of, but without Bucky, they just don’t feel the same. Without Bucky nothing feels the same.

He is so still so young, and yet, he isn’t, not anymore. He’s not turning 100 but technically he will be soon, and he doesn’t care for any potential party that Tony may throw, a party that he is no doubt planning for tonight, and party that Steve has no intention of going to. No need to get up, nowhere to go, not bothered for a run, Steve lies there for a few minutes, his thoughts disrupted by a knock on the door.

He considers leaving it, and he waits for another knock, waiting for Tony to yell through the door, waiting for Nat to pick the lock herself, but there is nothing, only silence. Steve doesn’t think, he doesn’t want to think, because if he thinks, he will hope, and hope is the last thing that Steve needs right now.

He doesn’t hear anything, doesn’t hear the scuff of an impatient shoe, doesn’t hear the agitated breath while they wait, and as he checks through the peep hole, he sees no one. His shield is across the room and he considers getting it, but instead he unlocks and opens his door, looking down the hallway, wondering…

No one is on the other side of his door. No evidence that anyone was there, nothing taped to the wood, nothing pushed under the door, but as he glances down, his gaze falls on a box. He picks it up ignoring the voice in the back of head telling him it could be a bomb, he knows he shouldn’t touch, but that doesn’t stop him. His foot kicks his door shut as he opens the lid, and he freezes.


	7. Chapter 7

His body frozen, he doesn’t blink, doesn’t think, he simply stares down at the box in his hands. His hands are shaking, and he doesn’t notice, his focus is stolen by far more important things. He knows his apartment is silent but he can’t hear it over the pounding in his ears. He wants to run outside, check the street, but there is no way that he can move, not now, not yet. His mind is exploding but his body is still as he stares down at the box, at its contents.

In the box is a cake.

He doesn’t even need to check he knows it’s carrot, it will be. Carrot cake was always his favourite as a kid, there is no doubt that this cake is carrot. It’s not the cake itself that has his focus, the icing is what is stealing his attention, the words that are neatly but not professionally iced on. His breath catches and his heart skips a beat as he stares at the icing… He’d know that handwriting anywhere, that slope he knows it, there are differences, small and subtle, but it’s Bucky, he knows it is. And if the handwriting doesn’t give it away, the words it writes does,

_Happy Birthday Stevie_

With a cake in his hand and a smile on his lips, Steve stands a few steps from his door and begins to cry.

Everything is frozen, he is falling apart while simultaneously being pulled together, a cake in his hands he stands where he is, letting the tears run down his cheeks, lets his eyes fall shut as he tips his head back, letting himself feel, letting himself feel everything that he has been ignoring, letting himself feel it all at once, and instead of knocking him down it is building him up. He doesn’t think, doesn’t let himself think, he simply feels, feels it all and then his shoulders tense for a single solitary moment and then they relax, and for a moment in time he is light, feeling everything and nothing, feeling like today on his birthday anything, no, everything is possible.

The tears stop and he stands silent for a few seconds just listening, but he doesn’t hear a sound. He knows Bucky is silent when he needs be, he knows the Winter Soldier is a ghost, but he listens anyway, hoping. When there is nothing, his gaze stops sweeping the room, his tears return as he looks down at the icing, the cake of red, blue and white, with fireworks iced in one corner. Steve smiles, the cake in hand, and he lets his guard down again, he doesn’t care that he is crying by his front door a cake in hand on his birthday, he doesn’t care at all. Bucky is alive, Bucky is remembering, and Bucky wanted Steve to know that he was okay, wanted to give Steve a cake for his birthday.

This he knows isn’t a dream, he is sure of that. This was real, and this was Bucky. The Bucky that he had watched night after night being extracted from the shell that he was becoming, there was still a slither of his Bucky left, not all recognition, not all memories were gone, Bucky was coming back, in bits and pieces. Steve considers that Bucky didn’t remember his birthday, he read it at the Smithsonian, but he doesn’t care, because it doesn’t say anywhere that his favourite cake is carrot, Bucky remembered that, he was the only one aside from his mother who knew.

 

The cake on the floor beside him now, Steve is on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. He had staggered backwards and slid down the door to the floor but he doesn’t really remember doing it. It’s his birthday and Bucky remembered, it’s his birthday but Bucky isn’t here. He isn’t just feeling anymore, he is thinking too, and that hurts too much. Steve had spent the night watching Bucky being disassembled in front of, spent the night watching Bucky’s screams become silent, watching him get ripped from Steve, ripped from himself, and all night there was nothing Steve could do, all his strength, all his training, and he couldn’t do anything to change the past, there was nothing he could do, he was powerless, just like Bucky had been for decades.

But this wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t a nightmare, this was real.

His back against the door he waits, he isn’t consciously aware what he is waiting for, but his gut knows, his heart knows, he is waiting for a hand, soft and warm and soothing as it holds on to him, he is waiting for strong arms to wrap around him, hair to brush his face, a warm breathe on his neck, a quiet voice with a hint of Brooklyn in his ear. But none of it comes, nothing comes to him.

“Oh Buck.” Steve says to himself, his voice wet and broken.

Saying that name that Bucky recognises, the name that Bucky remembers, the name that Bucky knows. He wishes Bucky was here, wishes he knew that he needs him, maybe more than Bucky needs him, but Bucky isn’t here, Bucky doesn’t know that. It’s just Steve alone in his apartment with a cake, a cake that Bucky may not have made, but a cake he most certainly iced.

 

A record is playing as Steve has another mouthful of cake. He had no desire to get up off the floor, and he didn’t want to ruin Bucky’s cake, but that same voice as before with the pancakes was in the back of his head, and Bucky’s voice was ignored for so long, how could he possibly ignore Bucky’s voice too. He could never ignore Bucky’s voice anyway, and as he pictured Bucky in his head, his blue eyes wide and his lip pouting, he had pushed himself off the door and grabbed himself a fork.

There’s a knock on the door, but he didn’t lock it, so Steve calls them in. He can hear the three of them, he heard them coming up the hall, and part of him wants to hide the cake, but he doesn’t. The door opens and Clint walks in first, a smile on his face as he greets Steve, “Happy Birthday Grandpa.”

“I always forget, who’s older you or the declaration of independence?” Nat asks, grinning at Steve as she wanders into the apartment, heading straight to the kitchen.

“Oh cake!” Sam exclaims, not bothering to greet him with anything other than a grin.

“Did you make yourself your own birthday cake Stev-o?” Clint asks as Sam makes a beeline for the cake. Steve shakes his head, unsure whether or not he should tell them, but he knows he won’t lie, and he knows that they won’t tell him the cake has been poisoned. Nat throws Sam and Clint a fork, Sam smiles catching it easily, and Clint doesn’t look away from Steve as he blindly catches it.

Sam digs in, moaning around the first mouthful. Clint shoots him a look but Sam’s eyes have fluttered shut. Clint grabs a forkful and takes a bite. Steve watches the two of them, and Clint moans appreciatively as Sam finishes his mouthful and says sincerely, “This is magic Steve, best carrot cake I’ve ever had.”

“It’s from Bucky.” Steve says, speaking for the first time since he whispered those two words to himself, to the cake, because there was no one else here to him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Nat stiffen, as her a Clint exchange a look. Forks frozen in the air, Sam looks from the cake to Steve, then back to cake and over to Nat, beside him Clint has paused.

And then the frozen moment is over, Nat turns back to the cupboard where she is pulling out mugs to make coffee with, and Clint goes back to chewing on the mouthful of cake he is currently enjoying.

“Is there anything that guy can’t do?” Sam asks, digging his fork into the cake, desperate for more. Steve laughs, his smile growing and his eyes bright as he takes another forkful of cake.

They eat cake until it’s almost all gone, they chat and laugh and fall into comfortable silence, and through it all, through every second of it, Steve thinks of Bucky, his eyes keep lingering on the window that Bucky had climbed out of all those months ago, the door which he had stood on the other side of just this morning. It’s not to say that Steve doesn’t enjoy those few hours, he does, he just wishes that Bucky was with them, he just wishes that he didn’t still feel so lost without him, he just wishes that he could spend his birthday with all his friends, which means Bucky too.

“Look I know you don’t want to go tonight.” Nat says, as she flicks off the tv and turns to Steve. It’s almost six now, and Tony’s party is starting in just over an hour. Steve hadn’t brought it up, he won’t say it, but he doesn’t want to leave the apartment for one reason, he hopes that Bucky will come back, and he doesn’t want his apartment to be empty if Bucky does.

Steve slumps further down the couch and answers, “But-”

“We think it will be good for you.” Sam says, rising from the arm chair and collecting the empty plates up off the table.

It’s been months without Bucky, he hasn’t seen him since he fled, hasn’t seen him since the incident with the pancakes, and all he wants to do is hug him again, he knows that he is safe, but he needs to see him, needs to know that he is okay, needs him to be happy before Steve can even make a start at being happy. He knows it’s dumb, Bucky won’t come tonight, but Steve doesn’t want to risk missing him.

“What?” Steve asks.

“You’ve spent all day pining for him, maybe a night away from your apartment that doesn’t include searching for Bucky or fighting robots and aliens and psychos would be good for you.” Nat answers, while Sam nods along sipping his third cup of tea and Clint makes a soft sound of agreement.

He scans their faces, and he already knows the answer but he asks anyway, “Do I get a say in this?”

“No not really.” Sam shakes his head and gives Steve a small smile from where he stands in the kitchen.

Steve looks to Nat, hoping that she would change her mind, hoping that she wouldn’t make him go, but instead she smiles sweetly and answers, “Nope.”

“Sorry Cap.” Clint replies before Steve can even turn to him.

They’re right, he knows they are, and he tries to push the image of Bucky beaten and bloodied, crawling through his window, needing Steve’s help and Steve isn’t here to help him. The three of them leave, Sam promising to swing by and pick him up at ten to seven, Steve nods, smiles at them all before heading to his bedroom, to his closet, to pick out a suit.

No desire to go tonight, but knowing that he should, he showers and brushes his hair, and puts on his suit, adjusts his tie as he hears Bucky’s voice in the back of his head, and he closes his eyes as he does it, remembering Bucky’s hands on him, fixing his tie and smirking down at him saying, “What would ya do without me?”

His eyes don’t linger on the cake box as he waits for Sam, his mind doesn’t linger on the way Bucky had looked leaning against Steve’s doorframe, the way his body had felt against his when he curled into bed beside him saving him from nightmares or when he had let Steve hug him. Except it does, it does all of it. While he tries not to think about the last slice of cake left in the box, a slice for Bucky, Steve scans the living room for no reason at all other than to distract himself.

When Sam toots from downstairs, Steve is wiping at his cheeks, glancing in the mirror one last time before he goes. He looks good, he knows he does, but he doesn’t look happy. It’s his birthday, and he doesn’t care for any of the expensive gifts that he will no doubt receive tonight, he doesn’t even really care for the presents Sam, Clint and Nat left on his kitchen bench, there is only one thing he wants this year, only one thing that he cares for and as he locks his door behind him and heads to the staircase he lets hope swarm inside of him for a few seconds, and he can’t let himself snuff it out. He lets the hope flutter inside of his chest, he lets himself smile and his body relax, because it’s his birthday, and he knows that Bucky wouldn’t miss it for the world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finds himself looking, searching rather for one face as he makes his way to the front, something that he would never admit, and as he stops in front of Bruce he can’t help the dull ache that accompanies his disappointment, after so many months of looking did he really expect that tonight would be the night he would find him...

“Why am I not surprised?” Sam sighs as Steve drops himself into the seat beside him. Steve looks over at him before glancing down at his suit, he thought the dark grey had been a good choice, but Sam is rolling his eyes, apparently not agreeing with him. “Here.” Sam adds, dropping something on Steve’s lap.

Of course, how could Steve forget, he didn’t just have to wear a suit tonight, he didn’t just have to attend a party that he would rather avoid, he also had to wear a mask. Tony had only invited a few hundred people, on the sole condition that it was a masquerade ball. Steve spent half his time in costume, so it didn’t really bother him, but he had still pushed it out of his mind. 

They switch from car to helicopter and Steve is silent, trapped in his head throughout almost the entire journey.

He doesn’t allow himself to reminisce on the helicopter ride there, he doesn’t let himself wonder how his birthday could ever feel like his birthday without Bucky in it. Instead he ties the mask on, glad it isn’t one that he needs to hold, and he looks out of the window down at the city that is still so alien and yet so familiar. The high rises and bright lights and fast cars he has gotten used to, but it still feels weird, he has a place in it now, but he isn’t grounded, he knows what he needs to ground him, but he pushes that thought out of his head and smiles, soft and small, and tries to be happy. It’s his birthday, his friends threw him a party, he will be able to engage in small talk for hours and forget about the rest of the world, and if Thor’s there he may be able to drink to get drunk, he doesn’t mind that he can’t usually, but tonight, tonight he wants to be able to.

He had turned down Tony’s suggestion for Steve to parachute down from the helicopter and had instead decided to switch from helicopter to car for the last twenty minutes of the drive, to give him time to calm his nerves a little, time to avoid certain thoughts.

Sam whistles appreciatively as they get close. He knew Tony’s parties were legendary, not from first-hand experience but from stories and news articles that he couldn’t ignore, beside him Steve can’t help but feel impressed by this circus. Neither says a word, Sam too busy digesting everything around him, observing it with rapt attention and Steve too busy stuffing his thoughts into a box at the back of his head.

The car slows, Steve can easily make out the flash of cameras a few hundred metres ahead, can hear the music seeping down the steps, sliding its way down the red carpet and obscuring the sounds of yelling paparazzi and snapping lenses. His eyes scan the crowd, picking up only a few familiar faces hidden behind masks, most though he doesn’t recognise. Ball gowns and suits are scattered across the red carpet, and Sam grins, this is his first party of Stark’s of this magnitude, he’s not going to lie, he’s impressed.

“Welcome to the dark side.” Steve mutters to Sam. His fingers digging into his thigh for a single moment, a moment where he lets his expression fall, a moment where he is Steve Rogers, and then the moment is over. Then he is smiling again, straightening his tie and pulling the door open before the man on the other side of the door can pull it open for him. Polished black shoes hit the pavement and Steve is smiling, polite and cheerful, appropriate for Captain America, appropriate for the birthday boy, and with Sam walking beside him, his eyes eating everything up, gaping at everything around them, Steve puts on his game face.

Enemies he can do, but these people, trust fund babies and two faced wretches, he would pick an armed guard over them any day. Fists don’t fly here, words do, subtle and digging, the small knives that each of them carry, the small knives that cannot be seen but can most certainly be felt, knife strikes concealed by smiles and sandwiched between compliments. He knows who to avoid, but he’s the birthday boy, which means he must greet everyone, kind and conniving alike.

 

The first hour passes quickly, and is almost instantly followed by the second. With so many people to greet and make small talk with, Steve forgets about everything else for the first two hours, too absorbed in being friendly and interested, and he is, for the most part.  He suddenly finds himself in an emotional free fall when the third hour drags by, nothing consuming enough to distract him from his thoughts, nothing that keeps Bucky off his mind, so he excuses himself from his conversation with Pepper and heads to the bathroom, wanting a moment alone.

Empty stalls and a brightly lit mirror greet him. Fingers curl around marble, eyes search his, his own blues watching his reflection, wondering why he is still hopeful, wondering why his skin was crawling mere minutes ago, the way his skin on his neck stood on edge, as he felt like he was being watched by a familiar gaze. Mask untied and dropped on the bench beside him, Steve rolls his shoulders, trying to force himself to relax, to no avail.

Cold water splashes his face and he blinks, once, twice and then a third time. His hand shaking as he wipes at his neck now, the hand towel soft and far more expensive than anything he ever owned before the war. This party is too large, too busy, but he’s used to it, used to the fame, to the people now but that doesn’t mean he likes it, doesn’t mean he accepts it.

It’s his birthday party, the biggest one he’s ever had, one of the most extravagant parties he’s ever been to and yet all he can think about is the barely there cupcake that sat on the kitchen table with a missing leg that wobbled constantly, the barely there cupcake that had a single candle sticking out of it, with a 16 year old Bucky grinning at him from behind the table, as he loudly belted out Happy Birthday, not caring that the sun had barely even announced the new day, not caring that Steve had told him not to worry about it, not to worry about a cake or a present or anything, and yet beside the cupcake was a small present, wrapped in newspaper with Bucky’s unmistakable writing scribbled over it.

Thoughts stumbling over each other, Steve’s fingers dig into the bench once more, his eyes fluttering shut, remembering his birthday in the war, remembering how Bucky had held him close, his words nothing more than a breathe as he wished Steve a happy birthday as they shivered on the outside of an enemy camp, Bucky gripping into Steve to stop him from doing anything stupid before it was their time to strike.

Steve stares at his reflection for a few more seconds, pulling out of his memories as he thinks about his birthdays, how they were never something Steve really enjoyed. Not when they meant money spent, not when they meant bringing attention to the fact that they had so little to spend, not that he minded of course, he just hated to see that pained look on his mother’s face, wanting to give him more but not being able to. That pained look didn’t die with his mother either, it was the same look on Bucky’s face in the years that followed Sarah’s passing, a look that Bucky was far better at hiding than Steve’s mother had been, but Steve knew every expression of his, and this was one he would never miss.

And yet Bucky always managed to scrounge up enough change for a present of some form for Steve every year without fail. His stomach lurches as he remembers what his nightmares had shown him only hours ago, the man with the soft smile torn apart in front of him and his fists clench, wishing that for just once a memory could go untainted, for a few moments he could reminisce without being reminded of the pain that Bucky had experienced for decades.

Bucky had made him a cake this year, well perhaps, at the very least he had iced and delivered it. Everything about Bucky now was uncertain, Steve hadn’t known if he was even alive for a few patchy months since he’d discovered his best friend was alive far over a year ago now, and yet Bucky left him a cake on his birthday, a cake that was more than just a cake. In Steve’s mind it was a message, a promise perhaps, but just what that promise pertained, remained to be seen.

“Captain?” The voice is soft and inquiring, doesn’t startle Steve, doesn’t make him flinch, in all honestly he’s been expecting it, after spending ten minutes in a locked bathroom hiding from his party and his guests by extension, this wasn’t a surprise.

Fingers uncurling, body relaxing, eyes darting from the sink to the mirror, to his reflection, he replies, “Yes Jarvis.”

“The fireworks will be commencing in a few minutes, I advise you head out before Sir sends me to look for you.” The AI answers.

Quick fingers retie his mask, before they smooth down his shirt, and Steve stares at his reflection, as his hands still, hovering a moment as he remembers sitting on the fire escape and watching the tiny fireworks streak across the sky in the distance, their crackling barely audible from where Bucky and Steve had sat all those decades ago.

One last glance in the mirror, Steve fixes his tie, brushes a hand through his hair before he answers, “Thanks Jarvis.”

Leaving nothing and everything behind in the bathroom, Steve heads back into the party, out towards where the people are beginning to gather, no need to push through to get to the front where he knows he will be expected, he walks through the path that is forming, and smiles back at the masked smiling faces that have already wished him a happy birthday.

He finds himself looking, searching rather for one face as he makes his way to the front, something that he would never admit, and as he stops in front of Bruce he can’t help the dull ache that accompanies his disappointment, after so many months of looking did he really expect that tonight would be the night he would find him, Bucky would find him, always did, always does, always will.

The words that the crowd sing aren’t success in drowning out anything other than the traffic of the city, the thoughts still swell and collide in Steve’s head as he blushes, wishes that they weren’t all singing to him, wishes that they weren’t all staring at him, he still isn’t used to holding the attention of so many.

 

The fireworks are of course sensational, but with each new burst of light, Steve aches for Bucky a little bit more. When they were kids Bucky would tell him that they fireworks were for him, just for his birthday, which for a few years he believed, but even when he knew they weren’t, even when he knew for certain, he still let Bucky tell him, still let himself smile and get carried away in the fireworks that were _just for them_ , and every year Bucky would get him to make a wish, told him it was better than a candle, ‘more bang for your buck’ he would say before they both exploded into laughter. Wet blue eyes followed each streaking light through the sky, those wet blue eyes threatened to close so many times, wanted to flutter shut and imagine Bucky beside him but he knew Bucky would scold Steve for missing the show, telling him he had to watch them all, make every twirl count.

Halfway through the display Steve’s breath catches and his fists clench in his pant pockets. He hadn’t expected to be hit by this particular memory, hadn’t expected for Tony to put this firework in, he had expected each fire work to be bright and showy, they were, all of them, except this one. This one wasn’t like that all, this firework was familiar and _god_ it made him _fucking ache_ for Bucky.

As the tiny little firework streaks across the sky Steve can feel his stomach drop and he smiles, sad and soft. He can hear Bucky’s voice as he watches it, ‘Just like you Stevie, just a tiny streak of light and it’s the biggest, the brightest of them all.’

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Nat pushes a tissue against his palm, he didn’t remember pulling his hands out of his pockets but his arms are hanging by his sides he stares up at the sky, the sky that is bursting with bright colours, none of which were as beautiful as that small one, that tiny streak that made his heart stop and his lips part.

So when the last firework explodes, the last of the fireworks that this year are just for him, for him alone, Steve closes his eyes and holds his breath with his right hand clenching into a fist above his heart just like Bucky taught him to do when they were seven years old, just like he had made him do for all the years to follow. So often he wished to be taller, to be stronger, but that was when he was a kid, ever since Bucky got his orders, every birthday since Bucky had been shipped off, leaving Steve behind, Steve had wished for one thing every birthday, and just like last year, this year was no exception.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guests are filtering back inside, back towards the music and the drinks and the dance floor, and Sam is turning back to them, a smirk touching his lips as he scans their faces before he asks, “Shots?”
> 
> “Is that a challenge?” Nat asks.

The band was playing again, the guests no longer crowding around Steve, no longer staring at the sky in rapt attention. Feet shuffling back inside but Steve doesn’t move, face frozen, heart beating slow, breath still held, holding onto the moment for as long as he can, holding onto his wish, holding onto it as tightly as he can, hoping to god just like all the years before this wish could come true too.

“What is he doing?” Thor asks, his eyes on Steve. He doesn’t understand all that the humans do, but he can tell for the glances of his friends that this is not a normal practice in this realm.

Clint suggests, “Pledging his allegiance?” Steve struggles to keep a straight face, barely able to stop himself for joining Clint who was snickering at his own suggestion. Steve’s wish was over, and he breathes in slowly, his eyes still shut as he hears the avengers laugh around him, knowing full well he can hear each and every one of them.

Nat smiles, hits Clint lightly for saying it before she could and laughs with the rest of them. He doesn’t bother dodging her second hit, instead his arm snakes around her waist as she comments, “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Thanking this great nation for-” Sam starts, his voice louder than usual and Steve can just tell that Sam’s chest is puffed out, he doesn’t need to open his eyes, he can tell from the increased laughter, and because well, he knows Sam.

“Leave him alone.” Bruce says softly, somehow knowing a little more than the others, somehow being able to read a little bit more of Steve’s expression than the rest of them, but Steve doesn’t mind the teasing, it’s familiar, makes him feel at home.

“..one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” Steve mutters, his words just loud enough for them to hear. Sam barks out a laugh which he quickly conceals with a cough. Steve’s expression is set, calm and serious, the edges of his lips are threatening to curl into a grin that would sell himself out, so he keeps his eyes shut.

“Is he for real?” Tony asks, his voice teetering on the edge of laughter.

Secretly Tony’s pleased that this party is such a success, that Steve hasn’t fled yet, that Steve actually seems to be enjoying himself, well as much as he can on a Bucky-less birthday. Tony heard about the cake, Clint had called to tell him, and despite the cake Sam had ordered for Steve being magnificent, Tony had left it in the kitchen, knowing that Steve won’t care for any other cake tonight, he’s already had the one that meant so much to him, any other one will just give him that far off look in his eyes that none of them want to put there. He hadn’t even minded Steve adding a firework to his display, it was his birthday after all and Tony wanted him to enjoy it, wanted them all to enjoy it.  He just would have liked a heads up before Steve added a firework.

Clint rolls his eyes, “He’s taking the shit.” He can read lips and expressions, Steve’s mask is slipping and he is moments away from laughing, the only reason he isn’t yet is because his eyes are still shut and he still has a sliver of restraint.

“I want to believe you.” Sam teases, nudging Clint in the side before he takes a step towards the bar. As Nat laughs again, Steve’s resolve breaks, his eyes flash open and he chuckles. The guests are filtering back inside, back towards the music and the drinks and the dance floor, and Sam is turning back to them, a smirk touching his lips as he scans their faces before he asks, “Shots?”

“Is that a challenge?” Nat asks.

Steve is completely out of his head now, pushing those thoughts away, intent on enjoying himself. He likes these people, no, loves them, loves them like family, just like the Howling Commandos were family, and he does enjoy their company, has enjoyed the fleeting moments he’s spent tonight chatting with them before he gets pulled away by some political figure who Steve only sometimes refrains from sending thinly veiled insults to. He smiles at the suggestion, knows from the split second exchanged looks that no one is going to take Nat on in a game of shots.

“For everyone but Steve and Nat.” Clint answers quickly, as he glances over at Sam who hurriedly nods in reply. Neither of them wants a repeat of St Patrick’s Day.

“What?” Steve asks with mock indignation.

Nat gasps, “Why?” Clint shoots her an apologetic smile when her obviously sarcastic gasp is followed by a soft sound of annoyance, but the smirk curling at her lips gives away her feigned agitation.

“And Thor.” Darcy adds, as she shares a glance with Jane who is nodding in firm agreement.

Thor chuckles, his hands slipping into pockets as he grins triumphantly, “Wise call.”

“You can’t get drunk on anything but Thor’s special drink.” Tony says, nodding to Steve who crosses his arms and mutters, “Excuses excuses,” just loudly enough to be heard.

“You can hold your liquor like nobodies fucking business.” Sam answers, pointing to Nat as he does so, they all knew the answer to her question already, and she grins at Sam’s reply. “And your realm makes the shit that is strong enough to Captain America drunk.” Sam finishes off just for good measure. He knows Thor doesn’t mind, isn’t even feigning annoyance, but he feels the need to say it anyway, so he does.

 

Bruce manages to wiggle out of proceedings with an apologetic smile and a mention of how shots may make him a little green, an excuse that everyone wholeheartedly accepts. Maria kicks Sam and Clint’s asses so badly in the first round that they blatantly refuse to let her in the second round, and Nat drank alongside them all during the first round, not part of the competition, not even when she pouted, and she swallowed twice the amount of shots the almost passed out Tony had. Steve watches from afar as they finish up their second round, Clint in the lead, barely.

By the time the third round starts, Steve is flittering between conversations, making the rounds again, chatting to people he only managed to greet earlier and dodging people he has no desire to speak to again tonight, or ever as far as he’s concerned. Hands stuffed in pockets he smiles as Darcy takes a selfie with him before stumbling back over to the bar where she is currently drinking Sam and Pepper’s under the table. Steve isn’t sure why his eyes keep scanning the crowd, isn’t sure why he still feels hopeful and yet hopeless at the same time. He listens to a Senator, whose name he can’t recall, as he talks about health care, and Steve nods along, politely corrects the man a few times before he slips off on the excuse he needs a drink, when in actuality he is seconds away from tearing this man a new one.

 

No desire to check his watch, not wanting to know how slowly the time is ticking by, not wanting to count the minutes until he can go home, Steve heads towards people he actually wants to talk to. It is his birthday after all, and he has enjoyed himself, more than he would have thought. He enjoyed watching Jane standing on the kitchen bench making a declaration to her margarita, he enjoyed watching Pepper talk Tony down from his ‘brilliant’ idea to blow a hole in the ceiling so that they would have a better view of the stars and he enjoyed Nat challenge anyone who would accept to a dance off, and Thor actually almost winning at said dance off. Smiling over at the bar where half of his friends are still drinking, he downs the rest of his scotch and leaves it on the table as he heads towards the more sober parts of his team.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Steve sees him.

Steve’s talking to Maria and Bruce, and he glances over to where Clint is laughing and that’s when he spots him. He is pretty sure it’s him at least, it was Tony’s dumb ass idea to make this a masquerade ball after all. But the profile is him, the way that he moves is so familiar, a mix of what he saw on the bridge, a mix of what he grew up watching. He’s drawn those hands so many times, those fingers that curl around that glass, he knows it’s him, he couldn’t possibly be anyone else. The black suit is a perfect fit, his shoes polished and an almost smile curling the corners of his lips. He’s wearing all black, which doesn’t surprise Steve in the slightest, the last time he had seen him it had been the same, only this time he isn’t in combat gear, this is Armani.

His mask is black and gold and only partially obscuring his cheekbones, and his pale ocean blue eyes are already drawing Steve in, from half way across the room, Steve knows it’s him. He knows that the short hair, not as short as it was before the war, is Bucky’s, he knows it was Bucky’s way of getting rid of some of the Winter Soldier, being able to control, to decide the length of his hair, and Steve’s eyes sweep over him, taking account of how Bucky’s not clean shaven, his stubble is not helping Steve’s heart which is already hammering against his chest.

Steve is having trouble breathing. Barely anyone here knows Bucky is, but they all glance over at him, their eyes lingering, eating up him, drooling over him from across the room and Steve can’t blame them for that, not even for a second. Thoughts clogged and hands shaking, Steve excuses himself from Maria and Bruce, not able to continue this conversation, not without confirmation.

“Jarvis? Is that, the, is that Bucky?” Steve stammers out, his voice low as he glances to the monitor, knowing that Jarvis will know, knowing that if he’s right, Jarvis will confirm his beliefs.

There is a second of hesitation before Jarvis answers, “Yes, that is Sergeant Barnes.”

Even though he knew it, even though he was adamant it was Bucky, the confirmation makes his breath catch. He doesn’t want to spook Bucky, so he doesn’t run over there and hug him, but he wants to, _god he wants to_. He wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go. Eyelids flutter shut and his breathing slows, trying to calm himself down, trying to process.

He hasn’t seen him in months, and here he is, standing across the room, in a suit and a mask, a mask that looks nothing like his muzzle, a mask that hides his face from prying eyes, but doesn’t cover those lips, doesn’t hide that smile, stop those words. Steve glances over to him, where Bucky is talking to Nat now, his lips moving and his body that Steve can tell he makes a conscious thought to move a little, as to not appear too still. He is doing everything to fit in, to not stand out, to be non-threatening, but what he doesn’t realise is no one is staring at him because they fear what they will do, barely anyone has even recognised him, they’re staring at him because he looks fucking obscene in that suit, and Steve is actively trying not to think about how he wants to rip it off with his teeth.

“Does uh, does Tony know?” Steve asks. He’s read the files, he knows who Hydra made Bucky kill, he knows that Tony’s parents died as a result of him, whether he killed them or designed their death, either way, he isn’t sure what Bucky’s presence here will mean.

“James was already discussing something with Sir before I could inform him of Barnes’ presence at the party.”

“Oh.” Steve breathes, nodding to himself. His eyes settle on the spot that Bucky was standing only seconds ago, but he’s gone. He was there only a moment ago, and now he is gone. Steve feels his body stiffen and he scans the room, needing to find him. Beside him he hears a chuckle, small and deep and it sounds oh so familiar.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can get by on my own Steve.” Bucky cuts across him and Steve’s fingers grip the bannister as he tries not to crumble.

“Happy Birthday Stevie.” Bucky smiles, his voice low and Steve is grinning, unable to bite the inside of his cheek to rein in a wider grin, Steve grins at Bucky who is standing right in front of him now, Steve grins at him like an absolute idiot, and it he isn’t sure what is happening, and suddenly he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have enough capacity to be nervous right now, the overwhelming feeling of happiness is clogging everything else up.

With no desire to stop himself, he is wrapping his arms around a startled Bucky, pulling Bucky against him, holding onto him with everything he has. He doesn’t want Bucky to disappear on him, he doesn’t care that a few people are looking, he doesn’t ever want to let go. Bucky’s body is warm and solid, and real, and he is hugging back, and Steve is trying his best not to cry. Bucky’s scent wraps around him again, for the first time in months and Steve feels Bucky’s warm breathe against his neck and then Bucky does that little laugh that is _oh so familiar_ , and Steve eyelids flutter shut, his eyelashes already wet with his tears and he is crying into Bucky’s shoulder, not caring about anything that isn’t Bucky, not caring about anything except the way Bucky is hugging him back, about how he still smells like himself, and that scent is wrapping round Steve and bringing him home. Home isn’t a place, home is a person, home is Bucky, and Steve hasn’t been properly home since 1944.

“I don’t know what to say.” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s shoulder a few minutes later, not yet ready to let go of him. He can’t lose him, not again, he fears the moment he lets him go, Bucky will flee and disappear for another few months, even longer, and Steve can’t let that happen, he can’t lose him, he won’t.

Bucky must know what he’s thinking cause he squeezes him tight before he whispers, “Yeah.”

“I missed you.” Steve breathes. He can feel eyes on his back, knows that most people’s focus has shifted, most don’t know who the handsome stranger is, but he knows that some are still watching, careful and considering, watching Bucky and Steve, hoping this situation doesn’t end as they fear. Steve wants to yell at them, tell them that its Bucky, that they shouldn’t fear him, but he doesn’t, instead he holds Bucky tighter, fingertips digging into his suit, his cheeks tear stained, and his eyes wet but tears no longer streaking down his cheeks.

Bucky’s fingers are trailing up and down Steve’s spine, just like they used to when they were little, and Steve is melting into his touch, taking every single thing that Bucky will give him as he breathes him in. Steve’s eyes are clamped shut as Bucky whispers, “Yeah.”

“I looked for you.” Steve confesses. They both know it, it doesn’t need to be said, but he says it anyway, lets those words fall out, tumble between his lips as he hugs Bucky closer, still not ready to let go of him, still not really believing that he is here, that he is real. “I didn’t want to stop but I did when you- you asked.” Steve adds, his voice breaking as he clings to Bucky, knowing he would fall to the floor if he let go now.

There’s a pause, a pause where Steve holds Bucky impossibly close before he lets go, lets him go completely and takes a small step back, just enough so that he can see Bucky, see all of him, and as his gaze runs down him, taking him in, Bucky whispers, “Yeah.”

“Bucky talk to me.”

Those four words just slip out, he doesn’t want them to, but he also doesn’t really want to stop them, he notices how Bucky’s body stiffens for a fraction of a moment and Steve is suddenly reaching out, his hands moving despite his brain telling them to stop and then his fingers are intertwining with Bucky’s gloved ones.

“Steve-“ Bucky starts before he stops, his blue eyes flick from Steve’s, and scans the room, Steve knows he is calculating an exit route, knows that he knows exactly who in this room is armed, how many exits there are, how long it will take to reach the closest one. The storm in his eyes calm, and as he meets Steve’s, the calm ocean seas look so goddamn familiar it makes Steve’s heart physically ache at the sight before him.

Not wanting to spook him, not wanting to do anything to make Bucky leave, his hands still clasping Bucky’s, he answers tentatively, “Yeah Buck?”

Bucky doesn’t offer up a reply, instead he stares at Steve, watching him, eyes inching over Steve’s face, trying to memorise everything, all of it, and that little forlorn smile that his curling at the corner of Bucky’s mouth is making Steve uneasy. Bucky can’t flee, Steve can’t lose him again, so he holds his hands tighter and his nervousness must show because Bucky smiles, soft and small, a flicker of light before a full beam, that loosens Steve’s shoulder before it disappears, fading into a tired smile that looks oh so familiar, and Steve wants to kiss it off, but he doesn’t, he can’t, he never has been able to, so he just stands there, waiting.

Bucky sighs, his voice quiet as he starts, “I remember, I remember so much, I remember so much of you, I do bu-” Steve knows that no one else can hear them, knows that Bucky is purposefully low, that Bucky knows that Steve’s advanced hearing can pick up the words that spill between his lips and make Steve’s heart clench.

“That isn’t worth remembering the rest.” Steve finishes for him, his voice cracking and his eyes threatening to water again, his grip on Bucky’s hands loosen and he moves to step backwards, step away from Bucky, but Bucky’s expression falls, the hopelessness gives way to shock, gives way to pain as though the very idea that Steve could think that hurts worse than a knife to the gut.

“Fuck Steve, that isn’t what I was going to say at all.”

Bucky sounds just like himself as he scolds Steve and Steve feels himself smiling despite himself, only short and soft, but the smile touches his face and Bucky sees it, Bucky understands and he squeezes Steve’s hands, wishing there wasn’t a barrier of gloves between them, but knowing there is no other choice, not out in public like this, not when he could put Steve in danger just by being here. Steve in danger is what he would give his life to avoid, and hell, he almost did, or at least he had intended to.

Eyes trained to their backs, but no guns in sight, the rest of the party fades away, with Steve’s back to them and Bucky in front of him, he forgets where he is, forgets that this is his party fill of his guests, and even if he did remember them, he wouldn’t find himself caring even a little. It’s been months since he’s had Bucky this close, months of sleepless nights, ever since he’d been woken from the ice he had missed him, missed his best friend, so he couldn’t care less for the party, not with Bucky with him now.

“I don’t remember everything, not yet. I needed to remember enough before I came back, I needed to burn Hydra, I needed to-” Bucky starts, his hands pulling away from Steve’s and falling by his sides.

His eyes sweep the room and his feet take him two steps away from Steve, needing space, needing to breathe, the room is getting too small, the room is too full of bodies, too many people he knows he could easily kill if he lapses for even a few seconds. It was a risk coming tonight, he knew he shouldn’t have come, but it was Steve’s birthday, he had to come. He takes another few steps away from Steve, towards the balcony, away from the noise, from the mass of bodies, from the heat and the pressure, and Steve follows him.

Steve doesn’t even think before the words tumble off the tip of his tongue, louder than he’d intended but not loud enough to be heard by anyone else, “You were gone for months Bucky! Months.” He bites on his cheek, regretting the words that had left his mouth unchecked, he needs to be careful with Bucky, Bucky is fragile he shouldn’t yell, but Bucky is walking away, his feet carrying him outside, to where they both know Bucky would only take a split second to disappear into the darkness.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Bucky shakes his head, and his voice breaks just for a moment, his head hanging and his feet still moving, still taking him away from the party, away from the people, but not from Steve, each step he takes Steve matches, he won’t let Bucky go, not without trying to make him stay.

“You don’t need to be sorry Bucky.” Steve sighs, he tries not to but he feels sick at Bucky’s apology, sick that Bucky feels the need to say it, when there is no need at all.

Bucky shakes his head, his feet still moving him towards the balcony, Steve isn’t getting it, doesn’t understand what he is trying to say, he doesn’t even really understand what he is trying to say. He does need to be sorry, he knows he does, but Steve looks hurt by the very suggestion that he feels that way. Shaking his head again he says, “I just, I had to Steve.”

“You didn’t have to do it alone though.”

They are on the balcony now and Steve is tugging off his mask and dropping it onto the little table by the door, he would have dropped it on the floor, almost did to see if Bucky would scold him, but he doesn’t. His face is open, his eyes pleading, and Bucky halts for a moment, his eyes drinking everything in, preserving Steve in this single solitary moment before he looks away and sighs, “Yes I did.”

“No yo-” Steve starts, exasperated and barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Bucky’s stubbornness. Stubbornness that doesn’t even begin to compare to Steve’s, but right now that is completely not the point.

“I can get by on my own Steve.” Bucky cuts across him and Steve’s fingers grip the bannister as he tries not to crumble. He isn’t sure if Bucky remembers Steve saying it to him all those years ago, or if he remembers those words and simply can’t place them, whatever one it is, those words rolling off Bucky’s tongue, his tone firm and his expression guarded, makes Steve want to cry.

The world sways, the sky far too dark, the wall of sound behind him closing in around them, Steve’s gaze rests on his feet as he answers, his voice cracking, dripping of desperation and need and want, and everything that he feels around Bucky, everything that he hasn’t allowed himself to feel, everything he felt when he stared at that cake hours ago, “Well I can’t Buck, I need you.”

He chances a look, meets those blue eyes that make him feel at home, he sees that guarded expression drop away completely, and Bucky’s mouth fall open, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that he doesn’t seem to register, and his tone is so soft, so reverent as he asks, almost begs the answer, “Really?”

“Course I do Buck.”

There’s no flicker of light, just the full blown sun, Bucky smiling, beaming at him, bright and relaxed and it takes everything that Steve has not to hook his thumbs into Bucky’s belt loops and pull him close to him. It takes everything, but the next four words that tumble out of Bucky’s mouth are worth it, “I need you too.”

Biting back the ‘you do?’ that threatens to slip out, Steve simply grins back in reply, unsure why his heart is pounding against his chest, unsure why that revelation makes him feel so goddamn light. The smile on Bucky’s face freezes and he looks down at his empty hands before he blushes a little, seemingly annoyed by something and Steve wants to ask but before he can Bucky admits, “I didn’t get you a present.”

“You being here is the best present I could ever ask for, ever imagine.” Steve answers, smiling and trying not to think about how cheesy that sounds, but he can’t help it, and he doesn’t really care all that much. It’s his birthday, Bucky is here, more whole than he could ever hope for, and Bucky is annoyed at himself for not bringing a gift, and Steve is trying not to die at Bucky’s exasperated sigh.

He’s closer to Steve now, only two steps between then and Bucky chuckles as he asks, “So my presence is your present?”

“Well I-” Steve starts, looking away for a second before he pauses, halted by Bucky’s mischievous smile, god that smile, that makes him weak at the knees and more than a little curious for the words to follow.

“In that case, you can unwrap me later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters to go....


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve almost wants to grin at how nervous Bucky sounds, not because he likes Bucky being nervous, not at all, because Bucky’s so goddamn vulnerable right now, not that he likes that either, he just, he wants to grin because Bucky is just as much of an idiot as him, because Bucky cared for him- loved? Steve pushes that thought aside, Bucky cared for him, cares for him, same way he does him and even now, with his body still pressed against Steve’s, he thinks that Steve doesn’t want him either. 
> 
> Words are too slow, too uncertain, but he doesn’t want to do anything that Bucky doesn’t want him to do, he needs to be sure.

“In that case, you can unwrap me later.”

God, his voice is so goddamn sultry, low and gravely and he is still smirking, his eyes dark and his voice like fucking sin, and Steve has no idea what to say, what to do, no idea how to process this. Especially not when Bucky closes the space between them, and Steve takes an involuntary half step forward so he can look down at Bucky through his lashes, and Steve could have sworn his heart skips a beat as Bucky’s hands settle on his hips, drawing his body impossibly close.

“Buck.” Steve breathes, the words barely even making a sound, he doesn’t trust himself to speak too loud, to scare Bucky off, to attract the attention of those inside, to give Bucky the impression that this isn’t what he wants, it’s just he wants to make sure this is what Bucky wants, not what he thinks he may want and definitely not what he thinks Steve wants from him. Steve wants Bucky to want this as much as he does, to know that he wants this and for him to take it, god does Steve want that.

A smile, no, a smirk, Bucky’s lips are curling and his eyes sparklingly suggestively, and everything about his expression reads irresistible, and Steve’s seen him charm before, but never like this, never this intense, and god his heart skips a beat, his breath catches and god his legs almost give way beneath him as Bucky says, his voice low and far too gravelly, “I look goddamn fine in this suit, don’t think I didn’t notice how you were admiring me from across the room.”

No honest excuse to be given, Steve simply answers with, “I wasn’t the only one!”

He’s not out of words, not yet, but with the way that Bucky is looking at him, the way that he is eyeing him up, eyeing up Steve in a suit, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes linger and Steve wants to look away from Bucky’s gaze, wants to stop staring at his goddamn mouth but he can’t, especially not when Bucky answers, “The only one I ever paid attention to.”

Eyes searching, Steve blushing under Bucky’s gaze, Steve blushing due to the pure sincerity that Bucky’s words dripped with, and the fact that he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Bucky ain’t lying, that Bucky- 

“How’d you get the suit anyway?” Steve asks, not trusting himself with anything other than a question right now.

“If I told you that I’d have to kill you.” Bucky jokes and then the smile falls and there’s an uncertain moment, Bucky’s teeth worry at his bottom lip, wondering if his innocent comment won’t be well received but then Steve barks out a laugh and Bucky sighs in relief.

Bucky tilts his face towards Steve, his eyes certain, tongue darting between lips and drawing itself across Bucky’s lips, and Steve’s eyes track every movement, not able to look away, and as Bucky’s lips curl into a smile and his head moves a fraction of an inch closer, Steve has to pull away, has to shake his head as he starts, “We didn’t before- we didn’t, I think you-“

“I know Stevie, we never did but god I wanted to.” Bucky smiles easily, his hands on Steve’s hips, Steve glances down at them his brain slowly catching up. Teeth graze Bucky’s bottom lip as he watches Steve, nervous for a moment and shifts, pulling his hands from Steve, not wanting to overstep, but Steve’s hands are on his, keeping his gloved fingers from letting go of Steve.

“You did?”

“Yeah I’m sorry, I uh, I should go, leave you to your guests I just I-” Steve almost wants to grin at how nervous Bucky sounds, not because he likes Bucky being nervous, not at all, because Bucky’s so goddamn vulnerable right now, not that he likes that either, he just, he wants to grin because Bucky  is just as much of an idiot as him, because Bucky cared for him- _loved?_ Steve pushes that thought aside, Bucky cared for him, cares for him, same way he does him and even now, with his body still pressed against Steve’s, he thinks that Steve doesn’t want him either.

Words are too slow, too uncertain, but he doesn’t want to do anything that Bucky doesn’t want him to do, he needs to be sure. The words blur as they tumble off his tongue as fast as they can, “Can I kiss you?”

Eyes widening at the request Bucky nods, not trusting his voice and Steve grins and leans forward, closes the gap between them and kisses Bucky, not wanting to give Bucky another second of uncertainty, not wanting to leave Bucky to think that Steve doesn’t want him back for another moment longer. Teeth crash a little but Steve doesn’t care even a little bit, the kiss is desperate, hands shifting, clinging onto each other, onto the moment not wanting it to tumble out of their grasps and fade away for ever.

He notices himself quickly, so he tips his hips back away from Bucky’s, but Bucky follows him, using that movement to push Steve up against the banister. Lips tugging and caressing, Steve murmurs, “Bucky.” But in that moment Bucky aligns his hips with his and god, Bucky’s just as hard as he is, and Steve’s murmur shifts into a moan.

Bucky’s fingers dig into Steve’s thighs and as Steve slips his tongue between Bucky’s lips, Bucky is lifting him up, placing him on the banister and guiding his legs around Bucky’s waist.

“Always wanted to do this.” Bucky murmurs, his lips ghosting of Steve’s jaw before kissing him again, Steve goes to ponder Bucky’s murmur, but he rolls his hips and all pondering falls out of his mind. For a second there he imagined Bucky hoisted him up on the kitchen bench before the war and doing this to him, but Steve had been distracted, hadn’t yet reached the revelation that Bucky had been wanting Steve since they were teenagers, when Steve was just that little guy who nobody wanted, no one except Bucky.

Bucky’s mouth is hot and demanding and Steve is unable to focus on anything else, with his scent wrapping around him and his mouth tasting faintly of cherries and scotch, Steve never wants to stop kissing Bucky, never wants to move from here. He knows he must look ridiculous, tall and broad and strong and sitting on a banister, legs wrapped around the waist of the hunky brunette everyone had been staring at for the last half hour, maybe longer, but Steve doesn’t can’t find a single cell inside of him that cares, not with Bucky hard against him, not with Bucky’s gloved fingers splayed on his upper thighs, not when it’s his birthday and Bucky is alive and making out with him, god sometimes he loves the fucking future.

 

“Apologies for the interruption but Sir wishes me to inform you that you do in fact have a room, a whole floor actually.” The AI startles Steve but Bucky doesn’t even flinch, although he does chuckle softly against Steve’s lips, earning him a sigh from Steve.

“Thank Stark for us please Jarvis.” Bucky breathes, his lips hovering above Steve’s, not ready to stop kissing him, but ready to get somewhere more private, ready to remove these gloves, his mask and Steve’s clothes, his fingers are itching to touch his skin, to touch him everywhere. He pulls Steve off the banister, and as Steve’s feet touch the ground he misses the pressure of his legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist.

Steve’s lips tug at Bucky’s and his loses himself for another few seconds, losing himself in Bucky’s lips and his gloved hands gripping his hips. His lips still against Bucky’s he asks the AI, “Can they see us from here?”

“Only I can Captain, they see the both of you still talking, but Sir and I figured you would want somewhere more intimate to continue this.” Jarvis answers. Steve nods, trying to focus on Jarvis’ reply but failing as Bucky’s teeth tug at his earlobe and Steve’s legs tremble beneath him.

Lips meet for a final kiss and then Bucky steps back, gives Steve the once over before his palms smooth down Steve’s shirt. Steve smiles, as Bucky straightens Steve’s tie for him, and Steve’s heart skips a beat as Bucky mutters more to himself than to Steve, “What would ya do without me?” Quick fingers tie Steve’s mask back on and Bucky smiles, as Steve’s eyes flutter open. He checks himself in the reflection before following Bucky back into the party, already two steps behind him and wanting to be infinitely closer.

 

It’s torture to keep his hands off Bucky, to keep himself as respectable distance away from him as they re-enter the room, but  with his hands stuffed into his pockets, and his mask hot against his face, he manages to keep away from Bucky, just. Steve smiles politely to his guests, wishes them goodnight, knowing that slipping off silently will raise suspicions not lessen them. The avengers look worried for a moment before Nat looks him up and down, takes into account his bitten lips, the way his hair is slightly ruffled and how his eyes keep drifting back to the man lingering almost unseen by the lift. Nat smirks at Steve across the room and he hurries towards the lift, not wanting to still be here when she tells Sam and Clint what she just discovered.

Entering the lift, bodies still far too far apart, Steve holds his breathe, smile still on his lips and hands stuffed in pockets, overly grateful that it’s just them in the lift and willing Jarvis to shut the doors faster.

Bodies shift, pushing together, lips crushing against each other as soon as the lift doors shut. With Steve’s back against the wall, his palms against Bucky’s cheeks and Bucky’s hands on his hips, for the first time Steve is actually happy that Tony has a floor for him here, and he doesn’t even care how it’s furnished, not now, he may care in the morning. But for tonight as long as there’s a bed, or a couch, or a bench, he’s happy. Right now he would settle for carpeted floor, or even hard tiles, he’s not fussy, after so many years, so much time, he doesn’t care where, because it’s with Bucky, and god, that is the most perfect thing he can ever imagine.

 “God.” Steve moans against Bucky’s mouth as Bucky rolls his hips and Steve’s fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, desperately clinging to Bucky as he kisses him hungrily.

Elevator doors open and Steve stumbles out, pulling Bucky after him. Tony’s had this place set up for months, and Steve had considered moving in, but only very briefly, he’s never visited this floor, always managed to wiggle his way out of it. And now inside, he doesn’t even flick on the lights, he simply hooks his thumb into a belt loop in Bucky’s pants and pulls Bucky after him as he pulls off his mask with one hand, and quickly yanks off Bucky’s gloves.

“Fuck.” Steve sighs, the door that he had opened did not lead to a bedroom, instead it led to a bathroom. Behind him Bucky laughs, loud and cheerful. A warm hand meets his and Bucky’s human hand is grasping his, pulling him now, dropping his mask onto the floor on his way to the next door.

Like breadcrumbs to the witches house, clothes mark the pathway to the bedroom. Bucky’s hand leaves his as he pushes off Steve’s jacket, loosens his tie and pulls it over head, before buttons are ripped off his white  shirt, Bucky doesn’t want to painstakingly unbutton Steve’s shirt, and as fingers splay across Steve’s stomach, he rips at Bucky’s shirt, and kicks off his own shoes.

Door open Steve doesn’t have a second to look around, to confirm this in fact a bedroom, instead Bucky is pushing Steve back quickly, lips on his before he pushes Steve again, and Steve’s legs hit the bed and he falls back, eyes on Bucky and wishing his lips were still against his.

Bucky nods towards Steve’s pants and Steve glances down, shifts his hand to undo his belt buckle before he remembers that Bucky pulled that off seconds ago. Pants and socks fall to the floor and Steve’s hands are pulling Bucky down on top of him, needing his warmth, needing his lips, needing him close, he doesn’t want to let Bucky out of his sight, doesn’t want to him fade away, can’t lose him again.

Steve kisses Bucky with all he’s got, hungry and desperate, loving and careful, this is everything’s he has ever wanted, everything, and with Bucky’s hands, one metal, one human, roaming, Steve’s skin feels on fire, and as he fingers claw at Bucky’s skin he wants to be closer, needs to be closer. Bucky shifts, flips them and pulls Steve onto his lap, his lips don’t leave his and his teeth graze Steve’s bottom lip before his tongue slips inside.

 

Steve pulls back, eyes raking Bucky’s face, Bucky’s body, his touch feather light as he smiles at Bucky, eyes taking everything in, Bucky beneath him in nothing but briefs, and he looks fucking obscene, his hair ruffled from Steve’s fingers. Bucky lets out a breath, lips parting before he drags his tongue across his lip teasingly, knowing that Steve’s eyes are glued to his mouth, unable to look anywhere else as he rolls his bottom lip with his teeth, his nails biting into Steve, as he rolls his hips and Steve moans, “God you’re-“

“I know I’m sorry.” Bucky cuts across him, eyes downcast as he stills, his body tenses and he shifts his hands, no longer confident, no longer roaming and Steve’s breath catches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters to go guys....


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can’t lie, knows he can’t but god does he want to. Hands shift as Steve thinks of how to put this Fingers curling around Bucky’s he strokes his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles as he utters the one word that will hurt Bucky the most.

“Beautiful.” Steve insists, his lips pressing a kiss to Bucky chest. Bucky’s body relaxes just a little bit and Steve’s lips press kisses up his chest and to his shoulder, where marred flesh meets metal and Steve’s kisses are light and soft as he murmurs, “I was going to say you’re fucking spectacular.”

Bucky’s breath catches and his whole body relaxes. As much as he loves Steve’s lips on his shoulder, Steve’s face is too far away, but he does nothing, lets Steve continue, instead of shifting, he stays still, not properly still or asset still, a different type of still, one not of fear, not an obeyed or ordered stillness, something else entirely.

Seconds turn to minutes and Steve’s lips are still on his shoulder, and Bucky sighs, “Says you.”

“What?” Steve asks, eyes darting up, looking up at Bucky through his lashes, not following Bucky’s sigh.

Using Steve’s pause to pull him back up his body and press his lips to his, Bucky kisses him softly and flips them again as answers, his eyes glinting and his lips curling into a soft smile, “You’re the gorgeous one, always have been.”

“Not always, now I’m-“ Steve starts, cheeks reddening and eyes looking down, away from Bucky, at the sheets below him, the sheets he is just realising are of the American flag. Making a mental note to yell at Tony later, Steve glances at his hand, his blush darkening under Bucky’s gaze.

“Always Stevie.”

Steve can’t help the question that slips out, “Always?”

“Remember that little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight?” Bucky asks, eyes locking with Steve’s, pupils so large his eyes are almost black, tone so sincere, so fucking low that Steve is barely keeping his lips off of Bucky’s.

Breath catching, eyes search the brunette’s face as he answers him, “Yeah.”

Fingers wrap around Steve’s nape and Bucky smiles, he smiles that smile that makes Steve ache, especially as Bucky’s eyes run across his face and he breathes, “Beautiful.” Steve opens his mouth but his protests are swallowed by Bucky’s kiss, and he grins against Bucky’s lips, not quite believing that Bucky’s felt like this about him as long as he’s felt this way about him. Lips demanding his full attention, Steve lets Bucky’s lips claim him, lets Bucky lips tug and caress him own, before lips are leaving his, trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck.

And then Bucky stops, teeth digging in, and Steve’s back is arching and he moans, “Bu-cky.” The word halving as Bucky sucks against skin and Steve gives Bucky a few more seconds, almost a minute, and then his palms are pressed against Bucky’s cheeks, pulling his lips to his, before kissing him hungrily.

 

“Steve?” Bucky says breathlessly, pulling his lips from Steve’s and resting his forehead against his. He doesn’t want to stop kissing him, doesn’t want to stop any of this, but they can’t continue, not tonight.

Steve isn’t really sure why he feels so nervous, isn’t sure why he’s relieved to find that Bucky is still looking at him with so much goddamn love in his eyes it makes Steve want to blush and look away, makes Steve want to wonder what he ever did to deserve the way that Bucky looks at him. His voice is breathy and utterly wrecked as he answers, “Yeah?”

“As much as I want to continue, and _god_ baby you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, but you are fucking exhausted. When was the last time you had a good night sleep?” Bucky’s tone is not helping, those words and his voice sounding so desperate, so honest, is making Steve want to do the exact opposite. He’s exhausted that’s true, but he already misses Bucky’s lips on his, already misses fingertips biting into skin, he needs to sleep but he doesn’t want to, not yet, he wants to savour every single second of this.

“Well-“ Steve starts, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to tell him the truth. He knows what Bucky will think if he tells him he hasn’t sleep properly since the last time Bucky had held him close, knows that Bucky will feel guilty, knows that he will pull that expression that makes Steve’s heart ache.

Bucky’s gaze is locked with his as he cuts Steve off, “Asgardian drug free.” Steve doesn’t even ask how Bucky knows about that, it’s not important, and if he wants to know later he can just ask him, knows that he needs to answer Bucky’s question now. That familiar look in Bucky’s eyes has returned, a little harder and more jagged that it once was but still oh so familiar, and Steve knows there is no way he is getting out of answering this.

Voice no more than a breath, a confession that he really doesn’t wish to utter, he looks away from Bucky as words tumble between lips, “Since you were last here.”

Eyes chance a glance and he watches Bucky’s whole face fall, just like he knew it would, and it hurts him just like he knew it would. Bucky’s voice trembles with an edge of something that Steve can’t identify as he says, “God Steve that was months ago.” The next three words that quickly follow, push Steve to the conclusion it’s guilt that Bucky’s voice trembles with as he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“Buck it’s not your fault!”

“If I’d been here then-” Bucky trails off, his eyes not meeting Steve and Steve wants to tell him that it’s not his fault, but he knows that he won’t listen, knows there is no point. Words are still too tangible so he presses a kiss to Bucky’s nose in an attempt to get him to smile. Bucky’s eyes refocus and meet Steve’s, silent for a moment Steve stares back, stares into those eyes that look so desperate, so sorry and Steve’s fingernails dig into skin, his palms pressed against Bucky’s hips, not thinking, simply watching Bucky wondering what he’s hiding behind his blank expression, what those stormy eyes are concealing. A breath, lips open and shut, purse together before Bucky asks, “What do you have nightmares about?”

Steve can’t lie, knows he can’t but god does he want to. Hands shift as Steve thinks of how to put this Fingers curling around Bucky’s he strokes his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles as he utters the one word that will hurt Bucky the most, “You.”

Just as he expected Bucky’s expression drops, and Steve can read what he’s thinking on his face. Steve knows that Bucky thinks Steve’s dreams are about Bucky shooting him, hurting him and he hurriedly adds, “Not like that Buck.” He didn’t think that Bucky would think he meant him hurting Steve, but one look at his expression tells him otherwise.

“You dream of drowning? When I let yo-” Bucky doesn’t give the words permission to shape a question, but his brain is moving so fast, his mouth can’t get in sync. Not even minutes ago they were making out, rolling hips and languid kisses, hot breath and roaming hands, and now Bucky was so far from that bliss he was feeling when Steve’s lips were on his.

“At first I did, only a few times, when I dream, you fall. You fall from that train Bucky, and I can’t save you, all I can is hear you scream, and fight the urge to let go and join you.” Steve’s voice cracks and he can’t meet Bucky’s gaze, can’t look at him, can’t see that hurt in his eyes, he just can’t.

Bucky breathes, “Ste-”

“After I read the file I dream of you in that room, I’m stuck in the corner, watching powerless, while they, while they…” Steve says, his voice low and cracking, he doesn’t want to tell Bucky, but he has to.

“God Steve, come here.” Bucky cuts him off, shifts them both before Steve can even blink, and Bucky’s firm arms wrap around Steve, pulling his body against him, letting Steve press his face against Bucky’s collarbone. Eyelids want to flutter shut, and they do for a moment, but Steve remembers these arms around them night after night, remembers not seeing Bucky’s face, so he breathes Bucky in before his eyes are roaming Bucky’s face, confirming that he is real, confirming that he is here.

 

Silence envelopes them, Steve’s body rises and falls with each breath of Bucky’s, he can tell that Bucky is making an effort to make sounds, just small and quiet, but sounds all the same. After decades of being a ghost, Bucky is doing everything he can to reassure Steve that he is okay, that he is here, and he doesn’t want to freak him out by the silence he can so easily achieve.

A minute passes, then a few more, each second is comfortable, each moment is peaceful and Steve wants to, needs to sleep, but instead he keeps his gaze raking over Bucky, keeps letting his fingers dig into Bucky, only lightly, just enjoy to know he’s there, to know he’s real. Cheek pressed against skin Steve whispers brokenly, “I’m so sorry Buck.”

“It’s not your fault Stevie.” Bucky answers, the reply so instant, like a reflex. This isn’t Steve’s fault, and Bucky doesn’t want him to think it is, even though they both know Steve won’t believe him, won’t be able to accept that this wasn’t his fault, not his alone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to convince him.

Steve sighs, Bucky’s wrong, it is his fault, he should have done more, he should of- His eyes on Bucky’s shoulder, he answers, “Yes it is, I didn’t find you after you fell, I should have tried harder I should have-“

Bucky’s fingers curl under Steve’s chin, tilts his face up, forces wet eyes to meet his pleading gaze. Bucky looks so broken and yet so determined, he can’t handle Steve blaming himself, he needs to convince Steve it isn’t, he has too, because one day he’ll tell Steve what he remembers, he’ll remember more and he’ll tell Steve that too. There is so much that isn’t in the files, the worst bits remain unmentioned, and he can’t have Steve blaming himself for those too.

Fingers under Steve’s jaw, thumb softly rubbing against Steve’s skin, Bucky’s words are no more than a breath, his eyes not leaving Steve’s, not letting Steve look away as he says, “Steve stop. I’m going to say this and I’m only going to say this once so listen close, none of that was your fault, none of it, don’t blame yourself for any of that Steve, not a single second of it. How were you supposed to know? You didn’t even really know what was happening to me before I fell Steve, there was so much that I couldn’t tell you-”

“I ju-”

“None of that was your fault Steve. It wasn’t your fault that I fell from the train, wasn’t you fault that Hydra took me-” Bucky insists, needing Steve to believe him, needing Steve to-

Steve sighs loudly and cuts across Bucky, “That they tortured you for years.” He expects Bucky to flinch, expects his lips to purse, his eyes to darken, but nothing changes, not a single thing, and Steve isn’t sure that he likes that more than the alternative.

Expression unchanged, not seemly pained or upset by Steve’s words, the admission that he was tortured for decades doesn’t seem to touch Bucky right now, but the idea that Steve blames himself is what hurts Bucky. The expression on his face, that look in his eyes at the mere suggestion that any of this is Steve’s fault, that makes Steve ache, makes him wonder at how after everything what hurts Bucky more than anything is Steve hurting. Voice desperate Bucky repeats, “None of it was your fault Steve.”

“You were leaving, you were being discharged but I made you stay I-” Steve starts, his voice shaking, his eyes closed as he presses his face against Bucky’s chest, his fingers digging into skin, needing to feel Bucky beneath his nails. Everything is hard to say, so much of this he’s never said before, but with Bucky lying beneath him, he has to say this.

“That was my choice.” Each word is weighted and Bucky tenses as the last two slip between his teeth. Steve is silent for a moment, knowing not to argue this, not to say it wasn’t his choice, because choice is important for Bucky, he was without it for so long, and he did choose to stay with Steve, although they both know it wasn’t really a choice, not really, it was instinct, there was no way he would leave Steve out there alone.

Steve nods, solemn and silent before he asks, “If our positions were reversed would you blame yourself?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreaming... ?

Bucky scowls, his whole expression darkening and his entire body tensing. Steve glances up, eyes meeting his and Steve shivers as dark eyes meet his. Bucky doesn’t register Steve’s shiver, he keeps his eyes on Steve as he answers, his voice rugged, “I’m not answering any hypothetical where _any_ of that happens to you Steve.”

He isn’t scared of Bucky, not now, not anymore so he snaps, without thinking, “James!”

“Steven.” Bucky replies calmly, his gaze latching onto Steve’s, Steve who is trying his best not to glare at him, is trying his best not to yell, but he wants to yell, yell how none of this is okay, yell about everything, and then shoot everyone who has done Bucky harm, but Bucky’s mostly already covered that.

The anger dissolves, not completely, but a rush of memory takes over his brain and his fingers curl around Bucky’s and he tucks his head beneath Bucky’s chin, eyes fluttering shut as he mumbles against skin, “I’m so sorry.”

“S’not your fault.” Bucky soothes, one hand in Steve’s hair, the other clinging onto Steve’s hand just as tightly as Steve is clinging back onto him. Usually he hates this, hates feeling trapped, but with Steve almost lying onto of Steve he feels calm, doesn’t want to escape, wants Steve to never move. Lips brush against skin and Steve breathes Bucky in, never wanting to let go as Bucky breathes, “God I missed you Stevie.”

They lay like that for a while, neither of them saying a word, neither of them needing to, and then Steve feels his whole body shutting down, so he shifts his body just a fraction, not ready to go to sleep, not yet ready. Bucky chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s doing, knowing he needs to sleep, so Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead before he repositions him as he carefully as he can, his hands soft and his breath warm against him and he handles a sleepy Steve like he’s made of goddamn china. Steve makes a soft sound of displeasure, already missing Bucky’s arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, but he’s only upset for a few more seconds.

Every part of him that could possibly press against Bucky is doing so, Bucky’s scent wraps around him, keeps him safe, cocooned and Steve feels safe, so goddamn safe. Nightmares won’t claim him tonight, he knows they won’t, not completely, not tonight. Even if they come, Bucky will be pulling him out of them, pulling him out of danger, away from trouble just like he’s always done, just like he always will. It feels like the old days, Steve’s back pressed against Bucky’s body,  Bucky used to protect him from the cold, from the outside, but now, now Bucky keeps him safe from the inside, keeps the nightmares that his mind concocts away. Linking fingers with Bucky, he shuffles backwards, loving that he’s the little spoon, loving the protective way that Bucky is holding him, has always held him, loving everything about this night.

Unsure whether to say them again, unsure whether he really has a choice in the matter, Steve breathes, “I love you.” the words stumble off his tongue and hover around them, and he can hear Bucky’s breath catch.

“Love you too.” Bucky replies, god it sounds so much more perfect coming from his lips, sounds so normal, so causal, so real, and Steve grins then, smiles into the darkness, his eyes shut and his body warm, and for the first night in months he isn’t even a little scared to fall asleep, because he has Bucky and Bucky has him. Steve falls asleep with warm breathe on the back of his neck, a warm arm wrapped around his waist, pulling his body close.

 -

  -

   -

Bucky’s screams are clawing at Steve’s skin, and Steve is helplessly watching him fall, trapped in his head, alone in his bed. He wants to scream right back, scream for Bucky, but he can’t, instead he clings onto the train desperately wanting to let go and fall with him as he sobs his name, tasting it on his lips as the tears start to stream and he-

That warm hand is on him, fingers holding him firm, pulling him from his nightmare, somehow both abruptly and gently. Steve’s whole body is shaking, but he knows he hasn’t been stuck in this nightmare for long, knows that it only just started.

 “It’s okay baby, you’re okay, you’re safe Stevie.” The voice that is always there to comfort him wraps around him, along with two arms, one of flesh the other of metal. Steve’s eyes latch onto those bright blue ones that are staring back at him, holding his gaze and then Bucky’s lips are curling into a small smile, one that Steve allows to fill him up, that smile no matter how small never fails to make Steve’s heart flutter. Steve is still shaking, his grip tightening, fingernails biting into skin, and he isn’t scared that Bucky will disappear, isn’t scared that Bucky is a dream, a dream that will fade away and be replaced with a nightmare.

 “It’s okay Stevie, I’ve got you now, I’m not going anywhere.” Soft voice with rugged edges that Steve is now accustomed to, that Brooklyn drawl is dripping through and Steve’s heart misses a beat, Steve faintly realises that his face is pressed against Bucky’s chest, that Bucky is lying flat against the bed, Steve lying practically on top of him. For a second he is worried he might crush Bucky, but then Bucky is pressing kisses down Steve’s nose as his fingers trail up and down Steve’s spine just like they used to.

“Where did you go?” Steve asks, his words no more than a breath but Bucky hears him. Steve distantly remembers the bed sagging only moments ago, realises that Bucky wasn’t in bed beside him when Steve’s nightmare took him.

A pause before Bucky smiles against the top of his head and chuckles in reply, “Even assassins have to pee.” Steve tilts his head, glancing up at Bucky as he smiles, not realising that he was nervous for the answer until the nervousness dissipated. Desperately wanting, no needing to kiss him again, Steve leans forward only a little bit before Bucky’s mouth collides against his. A relieved moan slips between lips and is lapped up by Bucky’s tongue. It feels so natural, so normal, with Bucky’s arms wrapped around him as his lips pressed against his.

“You made tea.” Steve mumbles against Bucky’s lips. He can taste the berry tea on Bucky’s tongue, and Bucky’s lips smile against his as he kisses him softly again, letting Steve taste him as they kiss lazily for a few minutes, hands roaming under fabric and over skin, lips never leaving lips for more than a mere moment. Bucky’s body shifts, he lets Steve manoeuvre him, lets Steve guide Bucky on top of him.

Bucky smiles, kisses along Steve’s jaw as he murmurs in reply, “Made you one too.”

“You were going to drink it too.” Steve answers, fingertips digging into Bucky’s skin as Bucky licks a strip across Steve’s collarbone making him shiver in the best possible way.

Glancing up through lashes, Bucky smiles innocently before he presses a kiss to the base of Steve’s neck and answers sweetly, “Was not.”

“Was too.” Steve answers, a laugh falls from his lips but breaks midway and turns into a moan as Bucky’s mouth latches onto skin and Steve’s head falls back against the pillow. Bucky presses soft kisses against Steve’s skin, pausing only once to glance up at Steve, prompting him to keep speaking, Bucky won’t tell him now, not yet, that what he missed most was the sound of Steve’s voice, that he fell asleep to an interview of Steve he had found on the internet, playing it on loop, making him feel safe. Steve smiles down at Bucky more than willing to speak, and as Bucky runs his tongue over Steve’s stomach, Steve adds, “Knew I wouldn’t wake, made one for me in case I did, and you couldn’t waste a perfectly good tea so you’d have to drink it too.”

“Haven’t drunk it yet.” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s skin and Steve laughs in reply, as he wonders absentmindedly whether the avengers will find cause to visit him, and god he hopes they leave their questioning, their protectiveness till morning, or afternoon, or next week even.

Their kisses turn long and languid, and Steve finds his mouth fits perfectly against Bucky’s, finds comfort in the way that Bucky tastes, and as hands roam skin, not hurriedly, not desperately, hands slow and fingers dragging, wanting to map everything out, wanting to feel each other beneath fingertips, wanting to map skin beneath their palms, wanting every inch to be familiar territory. Bucky pulls away first, just like he did before, Steve groans and shifts his head forward, lips catching Bucky’s, he kisses him back, moans appreciatively as Steve’s fingertips slip beneath the only fabric Bucky’s still wearing.

“Sleep.” Bucky murmurs, not pulling his lips away, not yet.

Steve smiles, tongue darting across Bucky’s bottom lip before he breathes, “Later.”

For a few more minutes Steve gets his wish, gets to keep kissing Bucky, but all too suddenly Bucky is pulling lips from his, repositioning Steve yet again, far too quickly Steve has his back to Bucky, and Bucky’s wrapping an arm around his middle. His nose brushing underneath his earlobe, Bucky breathes, “Now.”

Steve sighs again, already missing Bucky’s lips on his, misses how Bucky tastes, misses how his tongue feels as it explores his mouth and misses Bucky’s hands wandering across skin. Settling against him, shuffling into it, eyes shut and body relaxed, Steve smiles and readies himself for sleep. A minute passes, and as another one drags by, Steve feels himself being dragged to the edge of unconsciousness, and he can’t sleep, not until he says those words that he has been hanging onto for months, has been wanting to say for months, not a request, not really, a hope, a desperate wish.

 

“Please be here when I wake up.” Steve murmurs into the night. He’s said it before, all those months ago and had received not a word in reply not for hours, not until Bucky was kissing his forehead and murmuring an apology before slipping out of the window and once again disappearing into the world.

“No place I’d rather be.” Bucky answers, lips ghosting over Steve’s ear before kissing him behind his ear lobe and pulling him impossibly close.

Steve smiles, soft and sleepy and he knows that when he wakes Bucky will be there, knows that Bucky won’t leave, not for a while at least, not if he can help it. This may not be his bed, but here in the Avengers Tower it feels like home, here with Bucky holding him close, with his lips pressed against his neck as he sucks softly, leaving his mark as teeth sink in and Steve moans, wanting to scold Bucky since it was him who prompted sleep, but not being able to do anything but squeeze Bucky’s hand and let his eyelids flutter as Bucky’s tongue runs over the mark he just made, and makes a pleased sound as he inspects it in the dark.

Steve knows when he wakes in a few hours time his sheets with be neither damp nor twisted. He knows that his body will be missing the layer of sweat he had grown accustomed to upon waking. He knows that his cheeks will not be tearstained and his throat won’t be rasping. And above all that, there is one thing he knows for absolute certainty, when he wakes next, there will be nothing, aside for a bursting bladder, that will keep him from claiming Bucky and letting Bucky claim him in ways that he has been dreaming of for years.

Slipping between consciousness sand sleep, Steve breathes, unsure if Bucky is awake but more than half hoping he is, “If I wasn’t so tired right now I’d fuck you.”

There’s a split second of silence, a moment where Steve wonders if Bucky is asleep, before Bucky gives a breathy chuckle that Steve feels against his back, against his neck. Pressing a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, Bucky mutters against skin, “God Steve you always been this so romantic?”

“Only for you baby.” Steve breathes in reply, his eyes fluttering shut as Bucky’s hand shifts just a little, the palm flat against Steve’s stomach. Steve doesn’t want to sleep, he wants to stay in this moment for ever, but his body is heavy and he can feel his mind slipping again.

Bucky’s breath on his neck, his stubble rubbing against him, his flesh fingers letting Steve hold onto him not for fear he will leave, but simply because it makes him feel safe, Steve certainly feels safe, feels content for the first time in so long, feels happy. And as he smiles into the darkness, he lets himself slip back into sleep, knowing that he had just had his last nightmare, his last nightmare for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May do a bonus chapter, but for now, this is the end. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for commenting and reading, and this is my first completed multichapter stucky, so I hope you liked it :D
> 
> If you wanna chat about stucky or evanstan come visit me on [ tumblr ](http://alwayswithatoneofsurprise.tumblr.com/)


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